FIC: Bad Influence on You (Person of Interest)
Title: Bad Influence on You
Author: Rysler
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing: Root/Shaw
Rating: R
Word Count: 1500
Notes: Just a vignette. This pairing. Goddamnit so much.
***
"Is this what we're supposed to do?" Shaw asked.
They sat naked, cross-legged, across from each other on Shaw's small bed. Root didn't have a domicile, as it were, it was too risky for Shaw to follow her into Machine-fed crooks and corners.
Too risky.
"What? This?" Root gazed down Shaw's body. Tanned complexion right down to the dark curls protecting her secrets. Shaw trimmed. Kept care of herself, probably for the job. She could wear a disguise as well as the rest of them. Just one of the girls.
Root cupped Shaw's face. Shaw let her, looking at her with a curious expression.
"I don't know," Root said.
She stroked Shaw's cheek with her thumb, considering. Part of her wanted Shaw, carnally, of course, why not? It was only heightened by knowing Shaw reciprocated--well, was open to it. She'd never met anyone more sociopathic than her. That was part of the charm.
She was lying to herself again. Of course there were lots of people more sociopathic than her. That's why, though the Machine led her to Harold and she convinced Harold to believe in Her mission, she-and She--believed in Harold's mission, too.
So did Shaw. Just because.
That was another part of the charm.
Root wondered what it was all for. "What would it mean?" she asked Shaw.
"Maybe it would just feel good," Shaw said.
Shaw grasped Root by the wrist, and drew her exploring hand to her lips. She kissed her palm.
Root clenched her teeth. Shaw's lips were incredibly pliant and warm. A woman's lips. A tender woman's lips. But Shaw was just playing along.
"Neither of us are the type to just do 'what feels good.'"
Shaw dropped her hand in agreement. "So maybe it's an epic love story," she said drolly, and rolled her eyes.
Root smiled. Her forgiving smile, not the spontaneous grin Shaw usually pulled from her.
"And yet here we are."
"Here we are," Shaw agreed.
Don't you like what you see? Root shook her head. She wasn't going to play games like that.
Shaw scooted closer, so their knees touched, which triggered tingles in Root's legs. When Shaw stroked her shoulder, and then down her arm, Root leaned into the heat.
"Is it hard for you? Without the voice in your head? Without someone watching?" Shaw asked.
Shaw's words were harsh and even as Root looked around the room for cameras, listened to the ether for a sound or even a vibration for a friend, she let Shaw's sentiment strike her to the core.
"It is hard," she said, bringing her gaze back to Shaw's.
Shaw blinked at her with black eyes that showed almost… tenderness? No, Shaw wasn't there to comfort her. Root refused the premise. Maybe it would be comforting, but the one good reason not to do this was still prominent.
"We're both going to die soon," Root said. She hated it.
"I know. Saving the world." Shaw didn't smile, but she touched Root's chest, over her heart, still thoughtful.
"I don't want you to die," Root said.
Shaw didn't say anything.
Root waited, until Shaw's hand left her entirely, and Shaw looked past her shoulder.
"You want to die?" Root asked.
"Maybe I deserve to. Maybe the best chance I have is to go out doing something good."
"Shaw, all you've done… Whether for Harold or for Control, you've done it for the Machine."
"That doesn't justify it," Shaw said, returning her gaze to Root.
"It does to me." Root grinned. Spontaneous now.
Shaw shook her head, but smiled too. More of a half-smile. Like Humphrey Bogart.
"You're right," Root said, returning to an earlier subject. "There's no voices in my head right now. No one's watching me, keeping me safe, or putting me in danger. There's just me. And you."
Shaw nodded. "Keeping you safe. So what do you want from me, Samantha?"
Root wrinkled her nose, to no avail. There was a twinkle in Shaw's eyes.
"I want to get back to our roots, Shaw. Pun not intended. I want you to hold me while I cry. I want to hold you while you cry. This is a terrible world. And we helped make it that way. I want to feel… "
She ran through a list of emotions. None seemed appropriate.
"Well, I do acknowledge that we are both terrible people, but I'm not crying," Shaw said. "Maybe that's what you want, too. To feel nothing. To come over to my world."
"I can't deny that possibility. But fair's fair. What do you want, Sameen?" See? Two could play at that game.
There she went. Playing games again. So hard to stop bad habits.
Shaw considered. "I want to forget who I am."
"You mean, be who you really are."
"Whatever. You think sex accomplishes anything?"
Root's grin only grew. "Let's see."
She leaned forward and kissed Shaw, finally feeling those lips on hers. Even better than on her palm.
Shaw responded, opening her mouth with a willing acquiescence that would have seemed passive, had she not reached for Root's shoulders at the same time. She fell back, pulling Root on top of her.
They continued to kiss. Root squeezed Shaw's breast, just briefly, just enough to feel the nipple against her hand, and then traced downward, past the curly guard, between Shaw's legs.
Shaw was wet and wanting. Root broke the kiss to study Shaw. Shaw's expression was almost wild as Root gently touched her. Almost set free. The body responded where the mind could not.
That was comforting.
***
"It didn't work," Root said.
She lay cozily in Shaw's arms, in Shaw's bed, still naked, glad the dog had stayed at Finch's. The dog Shaw loved more than her. She grinned, anyway.
"What, you don't feel better?" Shaw asked mockingly.
"Not really."
"Well, I haven't done that in a long time…"
Root slapped Shaw's stomach. That was a lie. Both the talent and the currency. Shaw gave freely, because she didn't care.
"Any other theories, oh Root?" Shaw asked.
"I think we should spar." Root hopped out of bed and offered her hand to Shaw.
"Right now?" Shaw took it and stood up.
"Right now."
"I am not sparring naked, though," Shaw said.
"Why not?"
"It's painful. Things jiggle."
"What if you're in a situation where you're attacked in the shower, and you're distracted because you haven't trained--"
"Oh, shut up." Shaw smirked.
Root kept grinning her sinister grin, and followed Shaw's lead. A bra, panties. That would do.
Shaw handed her a padded fighting stick. Like a nerf bat. "Really?" Root asked.
"I don't want to hurt you," Shaw said.
"You already cause me so much pain," Root said. The earnestness slipped out of her, and Shaw met her gaze just as seriously. "What?" she asked Shaw.
"I was just thinking that without you, I'd probably be dead all ready."
"Well, Ms. Shaw, I think I'm flattered."
Shaw snorted, and came at her with the bat.
They play-fought for a while, children fencing in the backyard, not trained assassins. Maybe one day they could compare notes on kills. Though Root preferred not to get her hands dirty. Shaw was the type of person she'd hire. She was the type of person Shaw would take orders from. Curious.
If they were still working for their previous entities, they might be the same people as now.
That wasn't comforting.
Warmed up, their fighting increased in intensity. Bats hit arms and legs. Shaw shoved her. She stumbled back, but twisted when Shaw came at her clumsily, and brought the bat down on Shaw's butt. Shaw retaliated by striking her side. Root twisted again, but the bat hit her back, and then her other hip, and then maybe her head, where there was only static left. Neither empty nor full of voices. Just fighting rage and white noise.
She straightened and Shaw hit her on the nose, which hurt, and made her eyes tear up.
Shaw dropped the bat. "Root."
Holding her nose, Root broke into a sob. She stumbled forward and Shaw caught her in her arms, and lowered them both to the ground. Root let go of herself in order to clutch Shaw, and cried into her neck, staining her with tears.
She hid in Shaw's strength.
She'd found something she hadn't had before, in this ragtag bunch of secret operatives. A family, maybe. Harold would comfort her, and maybe even Lionel. "Froot Loops" was such an endearing name.
Anyway, not so much the big lug, but that was her fault.
Only Shaw was allowed to touch her.
Shaw was saying, "Root, Root," over and over again.
Oh, to get her attention, not to soothe. Root lifted herself, kneeling next to Shaw on the floor. "What?"
Shaw smiled. "I've decided. If we're going to die, we'll die together."
Root considered, and then asked, "You promise?"
Shaw leaned in and kissed her.
It was the right response. A physical reaction to an emotional question. A cultural gesture. And it touched Root all the way to her heart, and inscribed the promise there.
Author: Rysler
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing: Root/Shaw
Rating: R
Word Count: 1500
Notes: Just a vignette. This pairing. Goddamnit so much.
***
"Is this what we're supposed to do?" Shaw asked.
They sat naked, cross-legged, across from each other on Shaw's small bed. Root didn't have a domicile, as it were, it was too risky for Shaw to follow her into Machine-fed crooks and corners.
Too risky.
"What? This?" Root gazed down Shaw's body. Tanned complexion right down to the dark curls protecting her secrets. Shaw trimmed. Kept care of herself, probably for the job. She could wear a disguise as well as the rest of them. Just one of the girls.
Root cupped Shaw's face. Shaw let her, looking at her with a curious expression.
"I don't know," Root said.
She stroked Shaw's cheek with her thumb, considering. Part of her wanted Shaw, carnally, of course, why not? It was only heightened by knowing Shaw reciprocated--well, was open to it. She'd never met anyone more sociopathic than her. That was part of the charm.
She was lying to herself again. Of course there were lots of people more sociopathic than her. That's why, though the Machine led her to Harold and she convinced Harold to believe in Her mission, she-and She--believed in Harold's mission, too.
So did Shaw. Just because.
That was another part of the charm.
Root wondered what it was all for. "What would it mean?" she asked Shaw.
"Maybe it would just feel good," Shaw said.
Shaw grasped Root by the wrist, and drew her exploring hand to her lips. She kissed her palm.
Root clenched her teeth. Shaw's lips were incredibly pliant and warm. A woman's lips. A tender woman's lips. But Shaw was just playing along.
"Neither of us are the type to just do 'what feels good.'"
Shaw dropped her hand in agreement. "So maybe it's an epic love story," she said drolly, and rolled her eyes.
Root smiled. Her forgiving smile, not the spontaneous grin Shaw usually pulled from her.
"And yet here we are."
"Here we are," Shaw agreed.
Don't you like what you see? Root shook her head. She wasn't going to play games like that.
Shaw scooted closer, so their knees touched, which triggered tingles in Root's legs. When Shaw stroked her shoulder, and then down her arm, Root leaned into the heat.
"Is it hard for you? Without the voice in your head? Without someone watching?" Shaw asked.
Shaw's words were harsh and even as Root looked around the room for cameras, listened to the ether for a sound or even a vibration for a friend, she let Shaw's sentiment strike her to the core.
"It is hard," she said, bringing her gaze back to Shaw's.
Shaw blinked at her with black eyes that showed almost… tenderness? No, Shaw wasn't there to comfort her. Root refused the premise. Maybe it would be comforting, but the one good reason not to do this was still prominent.
"We're both going to die soon," Root said. She hated it.
"I know. Saving the world." Shaw didn't smile, but she touched Root's chest, over her heart, still thoughtful.
"I don't want you to die," Root said.
Shaw didn't say anything.
Root waited, until Shaw's hand left her entirely, and Shaw looked past her shoulder.
"You want to die?" Root asked.
"Maybe I deserve to. Maybe the best chance I have is to go out doing something good."
"Shaw, all you've done… Whether for Harold or for Control, you've done it for the Machine."
"That doesn't justify it," Shaw said, returning her gaze to Root.
"It does to me." Root grinned. Spontaneous now.
Shaw shook her head, but smiled too. More of a half-smile. Like Humphrey Bogart.
"You're right," Root said, returning to an earlier subject. "There's no voices in my head right now. No one's watching me, keeping me safe, or putting me in danger. There's just me. And you."
Shaw nodded. "Keeping you safe. So what do you want from me, Samantha?"
Root wrinkled her nose, to no avail. There was a twinkle in Shaw's eyes.
"I want to get back to our roots, Shaw. Pun not intended. I want you to hold me while I cry. I want to hold you while you cry. This is a terrible world. And we helped make it that way. I want to feel… "
She ran through a list of emotions. None seemed appropriate.
"Well, I do acknowledge that we are both terrible people, but I'm not crying," Shaw said. "Maybe that's what you want, too. To feel nothing. To come over to my world."
"I can't deny that possibility. But fair's fair. What do you want, Sameen?" See? Two could play at that game.
There she went. Playing games again. So hard to stop bad habits.
Shaw considered. "I want to forget who I am."
"You mean, be who you really are."
"Whatever. You think sex accomplishes anything?"
Root's grin only grew. "Let's see."
She leaned forward and kissed Shaw, finally feeling those lips on hers. Even better than on her palm.
Shaw responded, opening her mouth with a willing acquiescence that would have seemed passive, had she not reached for Root's shoulders at the same time. She fell back, pulling Root on top of her.
They continued to kiss. Root squeezed Shaw's breast, just briefly, just enough to feel the nipple against her hand, and then traced downward, past the curly guard, between Shaw's legs.
Shaw was wet and wanting. Root broke the kiss to study Shaw. Shaw's expression was almost wild as Root gently touched her. Almost set free. The body responded where the mind could not.
That was comforting.
***
"It didn't work," Root said.
She lay cozily in Shaw's arms, in Shaw's bed, still naked, glad the dog had stayed at Finch's. The dog Shaw loved more than her. She grinned, anyway.
"What, you don't feel better?" Shaw asked mockingly.
"Not really."
"Well, I haven't done that in a long time…"
Root slapped Shaw's stomach. That was a lie. Both the talent and the currency. Shaw gave freely, because she didn't care.
"Any other theories, oh Root?" Shaw asked.
"I think we should spar." Root hopped out of bed and offered her hand to Shaw.
"Right now?" Shaw took it and stood up.
"Right now."
"I am not sparring naked, though," Shaw said.
"Why not?"
"It's painful. Things jiggle."
"What if you're in a situation where you're attacked in the shower, and you're distracted because you haven't trained--"
"Oh, shut up." Shaw smirked.
Root kept grinning her sinister grin, and followed Shaw's lead. A bra, panties. That would do.
Shaw handed her a padded fighting stick. Like a nerf bat. "Really?" Root asked.
"I don't want to hurt you," Shaw said.
"You already cause me so much pain," Root said. The earnestness slipped out of her, and Shaw met her gaze just as seriously. "What?" she asked Shaw.
"I was just thinking that without you, I'd probably be dead all ready."
"Well, Ms. Shaw, I think I'm flattered."
Shaw snorted, and came at her with the bat.
They play-fought for a while, children fencing in the backyard, not trained assassins. Maybe one day they could compare notes on kills. Though Root preferred not to get her hands dirty. Shaw was the type of person she'd hire. She was the type of person Shaw would take orders from. Curious.
If they were still working for their previous entities, they might be the same people as now.
That wasn't comforting.
Warmed up, their fighting increased in intensity. Bats hit arms and legs. Shaw shoved her. She stumbled back, but twisted when Shaw came at her clumsily, and brought the bat down on Shaw's butt. Shaw retaliated by striking her side. Root twisted again, but the bat hit her back, and then her other hip, and then maybe her head, where there was only static left. Neither empty nor full of voices. Just fighting rage and white noise.
She straightened and Shaw hit her on the nose, which hurt, and made her eyes tear up.
Shaw dropped the bat. "Root."
Holding her nose, Root broke into a sob. She stumbled forward and Shaw caught her in her arms, and lowered them both to the ground. Root let go of herself in order to clutch Shaw, and cried into her neck, staining her with tears.
She hid in Shaw's strength.
She'd found something she hadn't had before, in this ragtag bunch of secret operatives. A family, maybe. Harold would comfort her, and maybe even Lionel. "Froot Loops" was such an endearing name.
Anyway, not so much the big lug, but that was her fault.
Only Shaw was allowed to touch her.
Shaw was saying, "Root, Root," over and over again.
Oh, to get her attention, not to soothe. Root lifted herself, kneeling next to Shaw on the floor. "What?"
Shaw smiled. "I've decided. If we're going to die, we'll die together."
Root considered, and then asked, "You promise?"
Shaw leaned in and kissed her.
It was the right response. A physical reaction to an emotional question. A cultural gesture. And it touched Root all the way to her heart, and inscribed the promise there.