fic: Dreams have never made my bed (Push; Nick/Cassie; adult)
Dreams have never made my bed
Push; Nick/Cassie; adult; 1500 words
Cassie's fourteen the first time she has a vision of Nick fucking her.
~*~
Dreams have never made my bed
1.
The first vision Cassie ever has is of herself giving Nick a flower, though she doesn't know it's a vision at the time. She's ten before she realizes that was the day his father died. She's thirteen and already on the run with him when a more symbolic meaning occurs to her; for three days, she can't look at him without blushing and getting a weird fluttery feeling in her belly. The blushing goes away. The fluttery feeling, not so much. She doesn't let it get her down. She sees the way people look at him. It's not her fault.
*
2.
Cassie's fourteen the first time she sees Nick fucking her, has an actual vision of it, not just a fantasy she jerks off to on the rare occasions she has a room to herself. She comes out of it gasping, wet, and aching. The scene plays out again behind her eyelids, like amateur porn: Nick thrusting into her, his eyes closed, his mouth shaping her name. There's nothing in it about Division, nothing she needs to share to keep them safe, so she doesn't. Her fingers itch for her pens but she ignores the urge for once, pressing them instead between her legs until she comes, biting her lip so she doesn't say his name.
She doesn't know what's changed until Nick comes back to the motel room alone. She grabs her bag, ready to run. "Where's Kira?"
His mouth purses like he's sucked a lemon. "It's safer if we're not together."
"I thought she had a plan."
"It was a terrible plan."
Cassie freezes, focuses on Kira, and new images play out inside her mind: scrubs, restraints, needles. Tufts of blonde hair floating around her like ash as her head is shaved.
"Nick--"
"Don't."
She says it anyway. "Thanks."
*
3.
The sex visions don't happen very often, but they do still happen, a secret, welcome respite from the visions of being captured, tortured, and, oh yeah, killed in bloody and painful ways that make being a Watcher so uncomfortable and so useful.
They celebrate Cassie's sixteenth birthday by blowing up a Division lab in Caracas, and they're on a plane to Rio by the time the shit hits the fan. Cassie buys a new dress and a pair of sandals (she swears there's still sand in her boots from their last visit to Coney Island), ties her hair up, and goes dancing. Nick grumbles but follows, the frown lines on his face fading with each caipirinha they share, until she lets herself get carried off with a group of teenage tourists from Germany. They dance until the sun comes up and then go out for breakfast.
She's in the ladies room, washing the sweat off her face, when the vision hits: she's on her back, her legs draped over Nick's shoulders as he licks into her, his fingers holding her open as he sucks on her clit. She stumbles against the counter, spraying herself with soap and water, and has to duck into a stall and get herself off before she can face going back to the motel room where he's waiting.
When she does, she runs into a dark-haired lady wearing a very small bikini. Her eyes narrow when she sees Cassie, so Cassie says, "Is my brother still awake? We're supposed to call mom and dad this morning."
The woman smiles, then, and says, "He's still asleep. I rode him hard and put him away wet."
"Thanks for the TMI," Cassie calls after her, hoping she's not going to have a sex vision every time Nick gets laid.
*
4.
Cassie has actual sex with an actual boy--not Nick--for the first time when she's seventeen. Tomas is eighteen, a Stitch they meet in Helsinki, where her mother is currently being held. Nick doesn't like him but he's useful, given the trouble they're still getting into. He has amazing hands; he likes to touch her, make her shiver and shake and beg.
At two weeks, it's the longest relationship she's ever had with anyone who isn't her mother or Nick. It ends when she closes her eyes while he's fucking her and all she can see is Nick. It's not a fantasy, and there's something disconcerting about it, even more than usual, because the vision is about five seconds behind reality, so she feels everything twice--Tomas's touches and then the ghosts of Nick's right after. She comes hard, surprised, and whispers, "Nick," before she remembers where she is and who she's with.
Tomas doesn't notice, or doesn't say anything if he does. She rides it out while he finishes, and then she slides out from beneath him with an apologetic smile.
"What did you see?"
"I have to go," she answers. "Don't worry, you're not in danger. Not right now, anyway."
Another vision hits on the way back to the apartment she and Nick are living in, this one actually Division-related, and she scrabbles for her notebook and pens.
She sketches a caravan of white minivans, a road sign she can't read in a language she can't understand. Then a boat and a skyline she doesn't recognize.
She spreads the drawings out in front of Nick when she gets back. "They're moving her."
"Yes."
He opens the laptop and they huddle in front of the screen, trying to match cities to her drawings. Nick is sure and warm beside her, a little sweaty; he smells like the cheap soap they both use and his hands are quick and long-fingered as he types. She tingles a little at the recollection of those hands on her body, and then reminds herself that it was a vision, not reality. A vision she has no idea how to make come true.
"Look," he says. "Stockholm."
The skyline matches, and suddenly everything seems within reach. She stares at the screen, mesmerized.
Nick wraps an arm around her and she leans into his comforting heat. "Cassie? You with me?"
She smiles at him. "Always."
*
5.
Cassie loves Nick and she knows he loves her, even if the visions don't come true and they never get to the sweaty, sexy parts. He's taken care of her since she was thirteen, and every choice he's made since then, every decision that puts him on Division's radar, has been more about protecting her than about taking them down, even when she's insisted it's worth the sacrifice.
And it's all paid off, right now, in this moment when she's holding her mother in her arms, her body light as a bird's, her pupils blown wide with second sight, and her hair gray and sparse.
"The drugs made it fall out," Cassie tells Nick later. "I'm not going to go bald or anything."
"If that's what you need to believe," Nick replies, but he skims the backs of his fingers over the blonde and blue fall of her hair, like he needs reassurances words can't give.
She grins at him and takes another sip of champagne, the really expensive dry kind she doesn't actually like, but they've won a major victory and Cassie's damn well going to celebrate.
Her mother's got a safehouse set up in Glasgow, complete with a Shadow powerful enough to shade them all for a long time.
The house is big enough for everyone to have their own room, but Cassie lies awake in the darkness, unable to fall asleep without the steady sound of Nick's snoring in the other bed. She's psyching herself up to go find him when the door swings open and he's there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, white t-shirt almost blue in the dark.
"Hey, Cassie."
"Hey." She twitches the covers, inviting him to get in. He hesitates for a second, then fills up the space with warmth and solidity. She curls up in the circle of his arms, finally safe.
"We did it."
She shivers at the touch of his lips on her temple and tips her head back so she can see his face. He leans in, presses his mouth to hers. He tastes of heat and need and minty toothpaste. She laughs into the kiss, as bubbly as the champagne they drank earlier.
They exchange heated kisses as he rolls her onto her back and pushes his hands up under her t-shirt, breaking away only long enough to ask, "Is this okay?" with every new touch. She answers yes and yes and yes as he moves their clothes out of the way, and then she can feel every glorious inch of him sliding against her. She giggles when the condom floats up beside them; he smiles as he rolls it on, but his gaze is hot and never leaves her face.
"Wanted this for so long," he murmurs against her throat, wrapping her leg around his hip and thrusting home.
"Me, too," she says, raising her hips to meet him.
It isn't exactly like any of the visions she's had. It's a thousand times better, because it's real.
~*~
Notes: Title from "Seasons" by Chris Cornell.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/405429.html.
people have commented there.
Push; Nick/Cassie; adult; 1500 words
Cassie's fourteen the first time she has a vision of Nick fucking her.
~*~
Dreams have never made my bed
1.
The first vision Cassie ever has is of herself giving Nick a flower, though she doesn't know it's a vision at the time. She's ten before she realizes that was the day his father died. She's thirteen and already on the run with him when a more symbolic meaning occurs to her; for three days, she can't look at him without blushing and getting a weird fluttery feeling in her belly. The blushing goes away. The fluttery feeling, not so much. She doesn't let it get her down. She sees the way people look at him. It's not her fault.
*
2.
Cassie's fourteen the first time she sees Nick fucking her, has an actual vision of it, not just a fantasy she jerks off to on the rare occasions she has a room to herself. She comes out of it gasping, wet, and aching. The scene plays out again behind her eyelids, like amateur porn: Nick thrusting into her, his eyes closed, his mouth shaping her name. There's nothing in it about Division, nothing she needs to share to keep them safe, so she doesn't. Her fingers itch for her pens but she ignores the urge for once, pressing them instead between her legs until she comes, biting her lip so she doesn't say his name.
She doesn't know what's changed until Nick comes back to the motel room alone. She grabs her bag, ready to run. "Where's Kira?"
His mouth purses like he's sucked a lemon. "It's safer if we're not together."
"I thought she had a plan."
"It was a terrible plan."
Cassie freezes, focuses on Kira, and new images play out inside her mind: scrubs, restraints, needles. Tufts of blonde hair floating around her like ash as her head is shaved.
"Nick--"
"Don't."
She says it anyway. "Thanks."
*
3.
The sex visions don't happen very often, but they do still happen, a secret, welcome respite from the visions of being captured, tortured, and, oh yeah, killed in bloody and painful ways that make being a Watcher so uncomfortable and so useful.
They celebrate Cassie's sixteenth birthday by blowing up a Division lab in Caracas, and they're on a plane to Rio by the time the shit hits the fan. Cassie buys a new dress and a pair of sandals (she swears there's still sand in her boots from their last visit to Coney Island), ties her hair up, and goes dancing. Nick grumbles but follows, the frown lines on his face fading with each caipirinha they share, until she lets herself get carried off with a group of teenage tourists from Germany. They dance until the sun comes up and then go out for breakfast.
She's in the ladies room, washing the sweat off her face, when the vision hits: she's on her back, her legs draped over Nick's shoulders as he licks into her, his fingers holding her open as he sucks on her clit. She stumbles against the counter, spraying herself with soap and water, and has to duck into a stall and get herself off before she can face going back to the motel room where he's waiting.
When she does, she runs into a dark-haired lady wearing a very small bikini. Her eyes narrow when she sees Cassie, so Cassie says, "Is my brother still awake? We're supposed to call mom and dad this morning."
The woman smiles, then, and says, "He's still asleep. I rode him hard and put him away wet."
"Thanks for the TMI," Cassie calls after her, hoping she's not going to have a sex vision every time Nick gets laid.
*
4.
Cassie has actual sex with an actual boy--not Nick--for the first time when she's seventeen. Tomas is eighteen, a Stitch they meet in Helsinki, where her mother is currently being held. Nick doesn't like him but he's useful, given the trouble they're still getting into. He has amazing hands; he likes to touch her, make her shiver and shake and beg.
At two weeks, it's the longest relationship she's ever had with anyone who isn't her mother or Nick. It ends when she closes her eyes while he's fucking her and all she can see is Nick. It's not a fantasy, and there's something disconcerting about it, even more than usual, because the vision is about five seconds behind reality, so she feels everything twice--Tomas's touches and then the ghosts of Nick's right after. She comes hard, surprised, and whispers, "Nick," before she remembers where she is and who she's with.
Tomas doesn't notice, or doesn't say anything if he does. She rides it out while he finishes, and then she slides out from beneath him with an apologetic smile.
"What did you see?"
"I have to go," she answers. "Don't worry, you're not in danger. Not right now, anyway."
Another vision hits on the way back to the apartment she and Nick are living in, this one actually Division-related, and she scrabbles for her notebook and pens.
She sketches a caravan of white minivans, a road sign she can't read in a language she can't understand. Then a boat and a skyline she doesn't recognize.
She spreads the drawings out in front of Nick when she gets back. "They're moving her."
"Yes."
He opens the laptop and they huddle in front of the screen, trying to match cities to her drawings. Nick is sure and warm beside her, a little sweaty; he smells like the cheap soap they both use and his hands are quick and long-fingered as he types. She tingles a little at the recollection of those hands on her body, and then reminds herself that it was a vision, not reality. A vision she has no idea how to make come true.
"Look," he says. "Stockholm."
The skyline matches, and suddenly everything seems within reach. She stares at the screen, mesmerized.
Nick wraps an arm around her and she leans into his comforting heat. "Cassie? You with me?"
She smiles at him. "Always."
*
5.
Cassie loves Nick and she knows he loves her, even if the visions don't come true and they never get to the sweaty, sexy parts. He's taken care of her since she was thirteen, and every choice he's made since then, every decision that puts him on Division's radar, has been more about protecting her than about taking them down, even when she's insisted it's worth the sacrifice.
And it's all paid off, right now, in this moment when she's holding her mother in her arms, her body light as a bird's, her pupils blown wide with second sight, and her hair gray and sparse.
"The drugs made it fall out," Cassie tells Nick later. "I'm not going to go bald or anything."
"If that's what you need to believe," Nick replies, but he skims the backs of his fingers over the blonde and blue fall of her hair, like he needs reassurances words can't give.
She grins at him and takes another sip of champagne, the really expensive dry kind she doesn't actually like, but they've won a major victory and Cassie's damn well going to celebrate.
Her mother's got a safehouse set up in Glasgow, complete with a Shadow powerful enough to shade them all for a long time.
The house is big enough for everyone to have their own room, but Cassie lies awake in the darkness, unable to fall asleep without the steady sound of Nick's snoring in the other bed. She's psyching herself up to go find him when the door swings open and he's there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, white t-shirt almost blue in the dark.
"Hey, Cassie."
"Hey." She twitches the covers, inviting him to get in. He hesitates for a second, then fills up the space with warmth and solidity. She curls up in the circle of his arms, finally safe.
"We did it."
She shivers at the touch of his lips on her temple and tips her head back so she can see his face. He leans in, presses his mouth to hers. He tastes of heat and need and minty toothpaste. She laughs into the kiss, as bubbly as the champagne they drank earlier.
They exchange heated kisses as he rolls her onto her back and pushes his hands up under her t-shirt, breaking away only long enough to ask, "Is this okay?" with every new touch. She answers yes and yes and yes as he moves their clothes out of the way, and then she can feel every glorious inch of him sliding against her. She giggles when the condom floats up beside them; he smiles as he rolls it on, but his gaze is hot and never leaves her face.
"Wanted this for so long," he murmurs against her throat, wrapping her leg around his hip and thrusting home.
"Me, too," she says, raising her hips to meet him.
It isn't exactly like any of the visions she's had. It's a thousand times better, because it's real.
~*~
Notes: Title from "Seasons" by Chris Cornell.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/405429.html.
people have commented there.