Prompt Post Round 1
Prompts go here! This will be closed and a new post made at 3000 comments. Please link all fills to the Round 1 Fill Post.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
Fire and Water
Rain is one thing, a river is entirely another.
She seems just as excited over this gently moving puddle as she was over the rain, kneeling beside it to scoop cold water into her mouth and even stick her face in it. He blanches at the sight and takes a few more steps back. Wading calf-deep into the water, she turns and waves at him to follow. He steps back again.
Something wicked sparks in her eyes and sends a delicious shiver down his spine. Smirking, she deftly pulls her shirt off and tosses it to the grass at his feet. His toes curl reflexively and her orange jumpsuit lands heavily on top of the shirt.
"You're not!" he yelps as she wades deeper. "This is absolutely not fair!"
She gives him a coy look over one brown shoulder before the regulation boxers come off. A strangled noise escapes his throat as they slap against his chest before falling to the ground. Her hips disappear beneath the water and she doesn't even look back as the last article of clothing lands on his head.
The day is already warm but it quickly becomes unbearable in the best way. He watches droplets coalesce on her skin after she splashes herself. They shimmer and slide down her body, tracing curves he barely knows with an intimacy that makes him jealous. His knees are already weak and he stumbles when she turns around, his mouth agape. She's pale and soft-looking where the fabric usually covers her. He finds one foot inexplicably in the cold water, uncertain as to how he got so close to it with such speed, and backs away again.
Laughing with her eyes, she slides down and vanishes beneath the surface. His panic evaporates before it can form when she comes back up, wet hair sticking to her skin in a way that leaves his mouth dry. She makes an unzipping gesture he can barely focus on and quirks her fingers, commanding him to join her.
"You're a wicked woman, do you know that?" he says, fumbling with his own clothes.
Her response is to lay her chin on her hands, an innocent look on her face, her wet breasts pressed together between her arms. One leg still in his jumpsuit, he makes an incomprehensible noise from his seat in the grass. She grins while he struggles out of his remaining garments, trying not to catch his boxers on the one part that has comically leapt to attention when he was too busy watching her. He takes a few shaky steps until he stands ankle-deep in the water.
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Like some sort of big cat she moves slowly toward him, a devious smirk playing around her mouth. He is powerless to move when she puts a cool, wet hand on his chest and presses herself against him. When that same hand slides down, lending some of its coolness to the hottest part of him, he squeaks like a mouse.
With one hand on his hip and the other in firm possession of his most delicate part she guides him deeper into the water and he barely even notices. The contrast between her hot tongue against one nipple and the cool water lapping at his thighs coaxes a shivering groan out of him. Using her free hand she places his palm against one breast, giving him permission to touch while she runs her nails down his hip, her fingers wandering between his legs from behind. He is momentarily distracted by her breasts, their pert nipples pressing into his palms. When she moves her hands just so he twitches, hands gently clenching and lifting of their own accord, and her smile widens.
He has completely forgotten about the water, all of his senses wrapped up in her soft skin, fresh smell, the motion of her cool hands drawing sweet fire to his surface. She follows his rhythm, hands moving in time to the soft moans he breathes into her wet hair. He stands closer to her than he's ever been and it feels right to have her pressed against him. She bites one of his nipples and it's the final spark that sets his world ablaze, a hoarse cry echoing off the water.
When he comes back she's holding him upright, grinning into his chest. Looking down, past his shaking hands still cupped around her breasts, he sees something on her belly that isn't water. An embarrassed flush colors his cheeks.
"Oh, ah, sorry..." she shrugs and shifts, letting the water wash it away.
Water...he's waist deep in water. The realization that it's not so bad after all doesn't quite drown out his indignation and he tries to glare at her smug expression. As always, he can't summon any true resentment towards her and winds up chuckling instead.
"How do you keep doing this to me?" he asks rhetorically (because he knows exactly how this particular goddess works this particular worshiper).
Grinning, she shrugs and claps her wet hands over his, pinning his palms against her flesh, and backs away, leading him deeper into the river.
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It's touching, and even if it isn't sad, it's heartbreaking. probably because so much feeling is conveyed. and for a shrivled heart like mine, it's overpowering.
but seriously, this is amazing. <3
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Someone mentioned earlier that this could be published as a standalone story, as long as you didn't mention that it was a Portal fic - you seriously could.
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Also, not sure if this was at all intentional, but every time I read the bit about Chell teaching Wheatley how to do cartwheels I can't help but think of this: http://youtu.be/iLUImqsoX7I
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To everyone who's been saying this would make a good bit of original fiction, thank you! :) I've been poking at it off an on to make it so.
Regarding Smerch doing a cartwheel: you aren't the first to say that, anon, but I actually didn't get to see that clip until some days after I wrote that scene. XD It is an amazing thing to behold. :D
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He
She smells terrible and the day is hot. Her clothes are frayed and filthy. There are small noises everywhere that used to make her jump and yesterday she was looking for an escape route, wishing there was still a gun to make a hole she could crawl out through. He counted stars and held her hand until the night was more quiet than she'd ever heard it.
The shovel stands tall in the fresh-turned earth, the only marker she can leave him. A hot breeze rustles the wheat, brushing against a face lined with years and toying with hair more gray than black. Unchanged, the shed in the middle of the wheat beckons to her and she is not surprised to see a lift waiting inside. She does not look back as the door slams behind her.
There are no words passed between them when they meet again in her chamber. Perhaps the machine feels sorry in her own way, but it doesn't matter. Both know why she is back and it seems fitting.
Her legs are still strong, feet toughened by the years. A distant memory of antiseptic rooms with smudges of mold between the panels flits through her mind but she can't bring herself to care. She suspects things have been rearranged when she comes to an unmarked but familiar wooden door far sooner than expected. The room inside is fresh and new, the carpet soft under foot and the sheets on the bed crisp. There is no television or painting on the wall, just a radio on the nightstand.
Settling into the mattress, she turns the radio on to hear a song she's only heard once before. She doesn't understand the words but she suspects that, as it was in the past, this is a good-bye. She presses her fingers to her lips and then to the radio's smooth surface.
Thank you.
Looking up at the blank ceiling, waiting, the tears begin to fall. It's only been half a day. She didn't know until now that he was what she lived for.
Over the pounding in her ears she can hear a gentle hiss. Her mind grows foggy and her body begins to weigh her down. As she slips into what feels like sleep, she sees his face once more and smiles.
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Will you be turning your talents to any other fills? I would love to read more of the subtle, classy yet totally hot way you have of writing about Chell bringing Wheatley off...
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I don't have any plans to continue with more fills, alas. Ironically, I'm an asexual lesbian, so while I find this sort of writing to be a fun challenge, it's also very draining. I wanted to at least finish this one, though, since it resonated with more people than any of my other Portal-based fics. I posted all of my Portal fics to my FF.net account if you're curious about some of the other fills, though. :)
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/27390/Razzek_Mecotl
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You have a great way of showing the passage of time (and implying what goes on and how characters slowly change) by little details rather than explicit statements. It makes your writing so much more poignant, and it was often those details that made me cry.
Your writing style does leave some (minor) ambiguities (although maybe that's just me), but that doesn't make it any less beautiful.
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You are amazingly talented, and I'm going to go finish my cry now.
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