Fic: Summer of the shark (Josef/Elle, PG, Heroes/Moonlight crossover)
Summer of the shark. Officially, I've gone insane. But it's all for you, dear thing, dear the_grynne and your delightful run of Heroes fic. Your wish is, apparently my command: here is Josef/Elle. PG for language and innuendo. Ha !
"Do you have a master, Josef ?" She flips down her sunglasses. "And I'm not talking about that Anne Rice shit. Does somebody run you ?" He smiles at her and she stiffens slightly, like prey; then relaxes with a practiced control. Good. He likes that.
"Use your imagination."
"These are just the rules and regulations;
and I, like everyone, must follow them."
-Rufus Wainwright
They tread a respectful path around him; they have their circle, their landscape and their games, and he's got his. They asked once and he said no. It stuck. They stay on opposite sides of the country. They don't send birthday cards. They wouldn't send her.
But here she is.
"I used to want to be in movies," Elle says, from the chaise lounge. He's about to ask her how she got in, but she points to the security cameras and they're fried. He looks at the curve of her too-thin arm; it's soft and perfect as the skin on fresh milk. The tips of her fingers crackle slightly, blue, like lightning.
"Well," he says. "How nice for you."
"Do you have a master, Josef ?" She flips down her sunglasses. "And I'm not talking about that Anne Rice shit. Does somebody run you ?" He smiles at her and she stiffens slightly, like prey; then relaxes with a practiced control. Good. He likes that.
"Use your imagination."
"I didn't think so." He sits beside her and sees for the first time that she's gotten into his wine. But not the good kind, no, he thinks she might be too young to notice. "Somebody runs me," she says. "I'm tired of being run. I thought I'd come to California. Get some sunshine." She rolls towards him and the strings of her bikini top roll too, leaving white trails of water on her skin. "I want to slip the leash," she says. He leans forward and he feels her skin almost underneath his; her lips make a sweet little bow and her eyes shut.
He scrapes his teeth against her throat and she jumps back, startled, clutching her towel against her breasts. He laughs. She scowls at him and her skin flashes like neon for an instant.
"Go ahead," he says; sits back, folds his ankle over his knee neatly. "Fry me. Stop my heart."
"Fuck you." She stands up, throwing the towel on the ground and spilling the wine, and walks towards the glass doors; but he's there, he's faster than a human man and sometimes he likes to show off, once in a while, for something fresh and smooth like her. "Josef-"
"You're young and you're pretty," he murmurs, against her ear; he feels her heartbeat rise and smells the static in her blood. "I'm old, and I've seen this before. You untie the straps all you want, honey, but I'm not going to underestimate you."
He steps back. Her shoulders are against the glass, leaving streaks; he knows it must be cold.
Elle grins.
"Can't blame me for trying," she says. She drops something artificial in her posture; drops what's left of the top at the same time. She slides the door open and walks into the dark of the house.
This, he thinks, will be fun.
"Do you have a master, Josef ?" She flips down her sunglasses. "And I'm not talking about that Anne Rice shit. Does somebody run you ?" He smiles at her and she stiffens slightly, like prey; then relaxes with a practiced control. Good. He likes that.
"Use your imagination."
"These are just the rules and regulations;
and I, like everyone, must follow them."
-Rufus Wainwright
They tread a respectful path around him; they have their circle, their landscape and their games, and he's got his. They asked once and he said no. It stuck. They stay on opposite sides of the country. They don't send birthday cards. They wouldn't send her.
But here she is.
"I used to want to be in movies," Elle says, from the chaise lounge. He's about to ask her how she got in, but she points to the security cameras and they're fried. He looks at the curve of her too-thin arm; it's soft and perfect as the skin on fresh milk. The tips of her fingers crackle slightly, blue, like lightning.
"Well," he says. "How nice for you."
"Do you have a master, Josef ?" She flips down her sunglasses. "And I'm not talking about that Anne Rice shit. Does somebody run you ?" He smiles at her and she stiffens slightly, like prey; then relaxes with a practiced control. Good. He likes that.
"Use your imagination."
"I didn't think so." He sits beside her and sees for the first time that she's gotten into his wine. But not the good kind, no, he thinks she might be too young to notice. "Somebody runs me," she says. "I'm tired of being run. I thought I'd come to California. Get some sunshine." She rolls towards him and the strings of her bikini top roll too, leaving white trails of water on her skin. "I want to slip the leash," she says. He leans forward and he feels her skin almost underneath his; her lips make a sweet little bow and her eyes shut.
He scrapes his teeth against her throat and she jumps back, startled, clutching her towel against her breasts. He laughs. She scowls at him and her skin flashes like neon for an instant.
"Go ahead," he says; sits back, folds his ankle over his knee neatly. "Fry me. Stop my heart."
"Fuck you." She stands up, throwing the towel on the ground and spilling the wine, and walks towards the glass doors; but he's there, he's faster than a human man and sometimes he likes to show off, once in a while, for something fresh and smooth like her. "Josef-"
"You're young and you're pretty," he murmurs, against her ear; he feels her heartbeat rise and smells the static in her blood. "I'm old, and I've seen this before. You untie the straps all you want, honey, but I'm not going to underestimate you."
He steps back. Her shoulders are against the glass, leaving streaks; he knows it must be cold.
Elle grins.
"Can't blame me for trying," she says. She drops something artificial in her posture; drops what's left of the top at the same time. She slides the door open and walks into the dark of the house.
This, he thinks, will be fun.