Be Kind to Animals - Kiss a Beaver (1/1)
Title: Be Kind to Animals - Kiss a Beaver
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: Pushing Daisies
Word Count: 1261.
Rating: R. Very R.
Spoilers: Through 1x03 "The Fun in Funeral," kind of. Mostly just if you want to understand the origin of the title.
Characters: Ned/Chuck.
Excerpt: Ned's eyes looking down at her now seemed darker than the black of his shirt or his coat or his shoes, and his eyebrows were forming an expression she hadn't seen before.
Author's Note: I rewatched "Bitches" today! AND IT WAS AWESOME. As I'm sure you will soon see. Also, this is for the_aprilpie, who made my day with a well-timed and absolutely wonderful comment on one of my old fics. Thanks also to the Beatles for "Here Comes the Sun" (probably the best song in life) and for the inspiration of this month's pd-playtime challenge.
It was raining, and streaks of water trailed down the outside of the windowpanes, leaving miniscule droplets in their place. Chuck pressed her cheek to the glass, as if she were a little girl again, and watched as the droplets gathered weight and sailed down, making new streaks of their own. The world seemed coated in grey.
She heard footsteps behind her: cautious, quiet footsteps enclosed in long black Converse high-tops with black laces and a white outsole. She thought about turning around, reaching out her hand - Ned taking it. She thought about spinning into his arms, bright purple tulle swirling and contrasting with his black collared shirt, black jeans. She thought about his smile, and the feel of the hair on his arms underneath her fingers. She thought about what his lips would taste like in hers, how his hair between the webs of her hand would feel; when, exactly, she would first know his tongue.
"I like when it rains on Mondays," he said, and Chuck jumped, leaving a white cheek-shaped stain on the glass.
"Sorry," he added. His eyes were lit up, and Chuck could tell that this had been a better day for him, when their arrangement hadn't weighed so heavily on his heart - when he'd, for the most part, been able to forget and deny. She wished their easy days matched. She wished she could tell him all of this, and have a single hope that he'd be able to do something about it, but instead she raised her mouth into a tired smile.
"Linguine with white sauce for dinner," Ned told her, grinning awkwardly. "I used that green spinach kind you like."
Chuck wondered how her conscience would react if she brought their arrangement to sudden light now, on one of his easy days, but she didn't wonder long enough, and so she was getting up, tugging his arm toward their bedroom.
"Not hungry yet," she said. His eyes were quickly getting that oh-God look - nervous, excited, nervous, lovesick, hopeful, nervous - like was holding his breath everywhere. When she led him through the door, it was so quick he nearly stumbled. She loved it.
He stayed standing when she slipped into his bed. After all, his shod-off skin cells couldn't hurt her, and no one cared if only his sheets touched her. The smell of Ned (his fresh, floury musk, with a hint of fabric softener and strawberry) was not dangerous.
She pulled the covers over her head, and slipped off her dress. It was easy. This was a back-zipper, so she arched up and yanked it down, and her underwear came off in almost the same movement. She wasn't wearing socks, or rings, or any hairpieces - and she only waited one more moment. The second she heard him shift uncomfortably, she took a deep breath and flipped off the covers.
Ned's jaw dropped. It was like he didn't know what to do with his hands - or any part of his body, really, except the eyes. Charlotte Charles, lonely tourist turned seductress, smiled and propped herself up against his pillow.
Ned made a grab for the box of plastic wrap on the night table - there was one in every room now - and kept his eyes locked to her as he drew out a square, grinning at her now like an idiot, just as she was grinning back at him. These were their best moments.
And then he was kissing her, prophylactically of course, but no less passionately, kneeling at the side of his tiny twin mattress as he leaned over her naked body, touching nothing, his hands twined behind his back as always, kissing and kissing and kissing. She stopped, and blew out a breath to puff up the plastic wrap away from her lips - reached out two hands to undo his collar.
"Chuck," he murmured ("I know," she replied).
She smoothed her right hand over his undershirt, and then her left, then both. She smiled, and turned to pick up the plastic wrap - to move it, down and down.
The oh-God look returned; and then it was replaced by something else entirely. Ned's eyes looking down at her now seemed darker than the black of his shirt or his coat or his shoes, and his eyebrows were forming an expression she hadn't seen before. His lips looked redder. And then she stopped looking, because his face was pressed into the plastic wrap at her - at her, and she could feel him breathing his warmth into the only part of her that was covered, the only part he could touch. Chuck arched, like she was undoing the zipper again, and she cried out before she could bite her lip, before she could think to stop.
Her hands grasped at the sheets, curled bits of Ned's comforter inside and squeezed as he kept going, as she watched his head move up and down, working in her. He let his tongue draw long, lazy shapes across that space between her legs, and then he sped up, kissing and kissing and kissing again, almost as if this were her mouth. She felt his nose, his lips - even his hair, a little, through the plastic wrap. Chuck was barely breathing, but she felt full of oxygen, alive. She felt like a ripe peach he'd just touched back to life.
Ned drove in as deeply as he could, and Chuck felt everything: the press of his cottoned shoulders against her inner thighs, the slick wetness of the plastic wrap, Ned's cheeks, Ned's nose, his chin, his warm tongue. She closed her eyes and pictured fireworks, a bright exploding color with every new contact Ned made. She thought she might have heard his voice, once or twice, in a low rumble that shot from her deep, hot flower and through her whole body. And then consciousness stopped, of everything, and all the colors blurred together to form one solid white firework that knocked her out.
Ned was still there, laying gentle kisses everywhere she was warm.
She pushed her hands underneath the sheets and leaned forward to grab his arms, pull him up towards her. He was grinning, she noticed; the light was back in his eyes and it wasn't even an easy day anymore.
Chuck stayed still as the piemaker pulled the sheet across her body, making sure she was protected from neck to toe. His hands still felt warm through the sheet as they checked her, spreading over every inch, gripping her waist and her back and her shoulders.
"I think we've used that square of plastic wrap for all it's worth," Ned whispered, a hint of his voice dancing an undercurrent in his throat.
"What was it like?" Chuck whispered back. "Was it strange, with the plastic? Did it stick to your nose?"
Ned smiled; with his face so close to hers, Chuck marveled that he didn't look worried, that she wasn't scared.
"It was amazing," he said. He reached over her head to take the box again, and rip off another long piece of plastic wrap. Chuck snuggled more deeply into the covers as he let the square drop to her face and touched her cheek. His body covered her; one black-jeaned leg sat between hers. Chuck's eyes were closed, and her mouth open, before he even leaned down to kiss her.
Outside, the rain had stopped. A single daffodil was beginning to poke its yellow petals out of a patch of wet fertilizer and grass.
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Fandom: Pushing Daisies
Word Count: 1261.
Rating: R. Very R.
Spoilers: Through 1x03 "The Fun in Funeral," kind of. Mostly just if you want to understand the origin of the title.
Characters: Ned/Chuck.
Excerpt: Ned's eyes looking down at her now seemed darker than the black of his shirt or his coat or his shoes, and his eyebrows were forming an expression she hadn't seen before.
Author's Note: I rewatched "Bitches" today! AND IT WAS AWESOME. As I'm sure you will soon see. Also, this is for the_aprilpie, who made my day with a well-timed and absolutely wonderful comment on one of my old fics. Thanks also to the Beatles for "Here Comes the Sun" (probably the best song in life) and for the inspiration of this month's pd-playtime challenge.
It was raining, and streaks of water trailed down the outside of the windowpanes, leaving miniscule droplets in their place. Chuck pressed her cheek to the glass, as if she were a little girl again, and watched as the droplets gathered weight and sailed down, making new streaks of their own. The world seemed coated in grey.
She heard footsteps behind her: cautious, quiet footsteps enclosed in long black Converse high-tops with black laces and a white outsole. She thought about turning around, reaching out her hand - Ned taking it. She thought about spinning into his arms, bright purple tulle swirling and contrasting with his black collared shirt, black jeans. She thought about his smile, and the feel of the hair on his arms underneath her fingers. She thought about what his lips would taste like in hers, how his hair between the webs of her hand would feel; when, exactly, she would first know his tongue.
"I like when it rains on Mondays," he said, and Chuck jumped, leaving a white cheek-shaped stain on the glass.
"Sorry," he added. His eyes were lit up, and Chuck could tell that this had been a better day for him, when their arrangement hadn't weighed so heavily on his heart - when he'd, for the most part, been able to forget and deny. She wished their easy days matched. She wished she could tell him all of this, and have a single hope that he'd be able to do something about it, but instead she raised her mouth into a tired smile.
"Linguine with white sauce for dinner," Ned told her, grinning awkwardly. "I used that green spinach kind you like."
Chuck wondered how her conscience would react if she brought their arrangement to sudden light now, on one of his easy days, but she didn't wonder long enough, and so she was getting up, tugging his arm toward their bedroom.
"Not hungry yet," she said. His eyes were quickly getting that oh-God look - nervous, excited, nervous, lovesick, hopeful, nervous - like was holding his breath everywhere. When she led him through the door, it was so quick he nearly stumbled. She loved it.
He stayed standing when she slipped into his bed. After all, his shod-off skin cells couldn't hurt her, and no one cared if only his sheets touched her. The smell of Ned (his fresh, floury musk, with a hint of fabric softener and strawberry) was not dangerous.
She pulled the covers over her head, and slipped off her dress. It was easy. This was a back-zipper, so she arched up and yanked it down, and her underwear came off in almost the same movement. She wasn't wearing socks, or rings, or any hairpieces - and she only waited one more moment. The second she heard him shift uncomfortably, she took a deep breath and flipped off the covers.
Ned's jaw dropped. It was like he didn't know what to do with his hands - or any part of his body, really, except the eyes. Charlotte Charles, lonely tourist turned seductress, smiled and propped herself up against his pillow.
Ned made a grab for the box of plastic wrap on the night table - there was one in every room now - and kept his eyes locked to her as he drew out a square, grinning at her now like an idiot, just as she was grinning back at him. These were their best moments.
And then he was kissing her, prophylactically of course, but no less passionately, kneeling at the side of his tiny twin mattress as he leaned over her naked body, touching nothing, his hands twined behind his back as always, kissing and kissing and kissing. She stopped, and blew out a breath to puff up the plastic wrap away from her lips - reached out two hands to undo his collar.
"Chuck," he murmured ("I know," she replied).
She smoothed her right hand over his undershirt, and then her left, then both. She smiled, and turned to pick up the plastic wrap - to move it, down and down.
The oh-God look returned; and then it was replaced by something else entirely. Ned's eyes looking down at her now seemed darker than the black of his shirt or his coat or his shoes, and his eyebrows were forming an expression she hadn't seen before. His lips looked redder. And then she stopped looking, because his face was pressed into the plastic wrap at her - at her, and she could feel him breathing his warmth into the only part of her that was covered, the only part he could touch. Chuck arched, like she was undoing the zipper again, and she cried out before she could bite her lip, before she could think to stop.
Her hands grasped at the sheets, curled bits of Ned's comforter inside and squeezed as he kept going, as she watched his head move up and down, working in her. He let his tongue draw long, lazy shapes across that space between her legs, and then he sped up, kissing and kissing and kissing again, almost as if this were her mouth. She felt his nose, his lips - even his hair, a little, through the plastic wrap. Chuck was barely breathing, but she felt full of oxygen, alive. She felt like a ripe peach he'd just touched back to life.
Ned drove in as deeply as he could, and Chuck felt everything: the press of his cottoned shoulders against her inner thighs, the slick wetness of the plastic wrap, Ned's cheeks, Ned's nose, his chin, his warm tongue. She closed her eyes and pictured fireworks, a bright exploding color with every new contact Ned made. She thought she might have heard his voice, once or twice, in a low rumble that shot from her deep, hot flower and through her whole body. And then consciousness stopped, of everything, and all the colors blurred together to form one solid white firework that knocked her out.
Ned was still there, laying gentle kisses everywhere she was warm.
She pushed her hands underneath the sheets and leaned forward to grab his arms, pull him up towards her. He was grinning, she noticed; the light was back in his eyes and it wasn't even an easy day anymore.
Chuck stayed still as the piemaker pulled the sheet across her body, making sure she was protected from neck to toe. His hands still felt warm through the sheet as they checked her, spreading over every inch, gripping her waist and her back and her shoulders.
"I think we've used that square of plastic wrap for all it's worth," Ned whispered, a hint of his voice dancing an undercurrent in his throat.
"What was it like?" Chuck whispered back. "Was it strange, with the plastic? Did it stick to your nose?"
Ned smiled; with his face so close to hers, Chuck marveled that he didn't look worried, that she wasn't scared.
"It was amazing," he said. He reached over her head to take the box again, and rip off another long piece of plastic wrap. Chuck snuggled more deeply into the covers as he let the square drop to her face and touched her cheek. His body covered her; one black-jeaned leg sat between hers. Chuck's eyes were closed, and her mouth open, before he even leaned down to kiss her.
Outside, the rain had stopped. A single daffodil was beginning to poke its yellow petals out of a patch of wet fertilizer and grass.