Fic: Elegantly Over the Rationals, Liz/Bishop, (1/1)
Title: Elegantly Over The Rationals
Fandom: Sneakers (Movie)
Pairing: Liz/Bishop
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Romance, Smut
Summary: You wonder how you let yourself get here again. You fear you’ll keep coming back...
Length: 3,000+ words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Graphic Sex
Author's Note: Because...just because.
Elegantly Over the Rationals
“We’re not getting back together.”
It isn’t that you don’t want to. You do. And that, right there, is the problem. Is the reason you have to keep saying the words over and over. To him, to yourself. To the world that makes it impossible to live with him in it when you’re not together, but keeps you apart when you are. And you do mean the words. Every time you say them. And usually that’s enough. Usually he turns away after the first time because he doesn’t really need you and he has other things to do, other people to see. But this time, this time you keep seeing him, and with every look in his eyes your words are a little weaker.
You need to push him away. You need to walk from him again and this time not look back. But you can’t because he said that he needs you, needs at least part of what you were willing to give him before and you have to help him. You always have to help him when he asks because you promised you would. You didn’t know what that meant then, but that doesn’t change anything and you agree without letting your head think at all. You won’t blame it on your heart, because that means accepting that he has some hold on it. When you finally pull away, denial is all you’ll have left to cling to.
And you’re okay. You’re getting through and keeping some distance and it helps that just when you think you might fall they test your trust and he lets them. Helps them and doubts you. And if things were different, if it was before and you were less aware then the night might go another way. You might hide in the dark behind the office walls of glass, or in the closet just there in the corner. You might silence your screams in his shoulder and tighten your body around him. But it’s all the same and you spend the night staring up at the ceiling, Crease’s gun clicking in your ear. You wonder how you let yourself get here again. You fear you’ll keep coming back.
When you leave it takes everything you have. Even now, you want him, you need him. And that’s not something you ever want him to know. You would quite like not to know yourself, it would make pushing his hand away from your cheek easier. But when has it ever been easy between you? Easy would make things simple, would mean you could stay right here and not have to push him away again. But it’s not easy, and it hurts to know the truth; that he’ll keep on running until he can’t. You don’t look back as you leave, but you know he’s watching. Breathing in the morning air you know it’s not quite the end yet.
It’s never the end. No matter how many times you think it. No matter how many lines you draw in the sand, how many messages you listen to over and over but don’t return, it’s never over and it’s hard to blame yourself so you don’t. You blame him. You blame the blue eyes that glow when he looks at you, like you’re the greatest sneak he’s ever done. The catch in his voice when he told you who he really was and you kissed away the guilt. You blame every part of him that’s ever touched you, that’s ever held you close and turned you inside out, working you until you don’t care that he’s been missing for days and the guys keep telling you he’s fine but not around. It’s never over and so much of you is terrified that eventually, it will be.
You think it might be when you hear the news. When the man you doubted is dead and the things they’re saying are too familiar and make your heart pound the wrong way. People are dying and that’s never been part of the deal before. The other sneaks, the ones that still give you nightmares when he isn’t around. They were bad but this is death and you’re too scared to call the guys because their panic might break you. So you call him, and you think of blue eyes alive with life. But he doesn’t answer and you get no comfort from the cold weight of another’s voice. And then there are hours and minutes and seconds that you can’t fill with marking and planning. And everything is clean and packed away and you’ve showered and scrubbed and time is still ticking away the silence. Because you can’t call again and you still won’t call the guys. But you need to know. And maybe now, right now, you’re scared enough to admit you love him.
You love him. The way he watches you whenever you’re in a room together. The taste of his lips when you’ve waited all day and he’s finally come in from the cold. The feel of him inside you and over you and under you and everywhere at once because he’s all you can see and feel and you don’t think you’re missing anything at all. You love him because he told you his name when he didn’t have to, and still smiles when you call him Bishop instead. And he let you walk away when it got too much but didn’t let you run too far without chasing. And Crease is paranoid and he’s cautious and you wouldn’t have slept at home either. And you knew you loved him, told him over and over when it was a little less complicated. When it made less sense. But you love him now when you’ve fought all this time not to. And you’ll kill him if he’s dead when you’ve finally surrendered and given in. He’s won the battle and you’ve never wished for his smug smile like you do now.
And then he’s here again, bruised and battered and alive. He says he’s sorry and he always is. But he really means it and you forgave him when it wasn’t his voice at the end of the line. You fold into him, let him know without words where you are now, how far you’ve come. When you tell him all you can, you do it knowing there’s no going back. The plea in his eyes would have torn down the walls you’ve already flattened and you tell him you’re here knowing what that means too. You’ve been here before and this time you don’t have the strength to pull away again. This isn’t like the first time. You know you love him when you know you shouldn’t. You know now that running doesn’t keep him away and only wears you out. You know that keeping yourself away from him now you’ve let him back in will only tear you both apart.
He calls the guys and there’s a promise in his gaze that lights up every fire he’s ever touched in you. His eyes never leave you and you stop listening to his words because right now they don’t matter. Nothing matters except that he’s right here in front of you and if you needed the excuse the mud on his coat would be reason enough to strip him. You lick your lips and his eyes drop to follow; you don’t need the excuse and you step forward together to close the space that’s too big. He must have put the phone down because there’s nothing but you in his hands when he grabs your hips and pulls you close. You might have been in his arms before but this is in his hands and there’s a difference there that’s as great as the threat that’s looming over you all.
On your toes you’re only shorter by a bit and your cheek presses hot against his own. His breath puffs in your ear and it’s less comfort more thrill when you slide your arms beneath his coat and it speeds up. You tilt back and eyes open or closed your mouth will always find his without effort. Lips touching, teasing, little brushes that barely hint at how much you want him, but it’s everything you remember and more because it’s not memory but sense. One hand leaves your waist and tugs at the tie of your gown and that’s more than enough to make you push your lips hard against his and move your own hand to his neck. And he’s distracted by the opening of your mouth and the groan that escapes when his tongue seeks yours and you push closer because this isn’t enough; after all this time you need to be closer than you’ve ever been. The smirk that twists his lips against yours tells you he knows what you want, and you might be moving fast but he could have died and you’ve been fighting yourself so long. And he feels so good, rubbing the silk against your skin, hard and soft and hard and smooth and it’s all you can do not to push him to the floor but you gather your control and break the kiss. It cracks at the darkness of his eyes and surely you can’t be expected to hold on too long when he’s here and you can feel him against your thigh. And the floor’s clean and his hand finishes the work on your robe and slips inside and you don’t care if it’s the floor or the wall or the table by the door as long as it’s now. Right now.
He doesn’t expect you to lean into him and if you cared to you’d tell him you really have given in. But you don’t and you can’t really think with his hand on your breast and his mouth back on your own. He slides beneath more silk and circles and rubs and then squeezes and your body remembers enough to know what’s coming next. The anticipation pools straight between your thighs, another flick and it must have stopped time because when you open your eyes his lips are against your arched neck and his hands have pushed your robe completely away. Your nightgown slips to the floor with a whisper that makes you shiver and then you’re bare in his arms.
You know he’ll want to look, always does, but you still moan out your protest when he steps away and leaves you swaying on unsteady legs. The smug grin is back and this time it’s too much; he’s overdressed and the burn in his eyes is too controlled for you to like. The smile falters when you step close and slide your tongue into his mouth while your hands throw his coat across the room. His hands are hot against your skin but you twist free before his grip can tighten enough to burn away your restraint. He’s won and that’s fine, that’s perfect here and now, but you’re going to win a little too. You shake your head at the question in his eyes, take one hand in each of yours and pull them up above his head. His eyes flash, darkening further because you’re not hiding what you want and he’s a smart man when he wants to be. You think about taking it slow, sliding your hands up his sides inch by inch and teasing him beneath the sweater, but you catch sight of the cut by his eye and you remember why he’s here. You nearly lost him completely, you’ve no more time for slow.
If he’s surprised with the change in you, it doesn’t matter, you don’t care. You push the sweater up until he gets the hint and drop your hands to the zip at his fly. You’ve almost forgotten your exposure but as you pop the button and slip one hand in he pulls you tight up against him and you shudder at the touch. Skin to skin and the hair on his chest scratches your nipples in that way that makes them burn. Makes you burn. It’s too much and not enough and you tug until the material in your hands slides down his legs. It’s your turn to step back, to watch with glazing eyes as he kicks off the last of his clothes. You don’t remember him losing his shoes but he has. You’ve been distracted. He’s perfect in his imperfections; the lines growing across his face with time, the softness that hides his strength. A strength he reminds you of when his hands come back to your hips, gripping tight, lifting you up until you can wrap your legs around his waist. The angle isn’t right for what you really want, and the low growl he lets out when you try to shift says he knows it too but he’s waiting. For what you don’t ask, fighting yourself to keep still, hands tangling with his hair as you bring your lips to his ear. You don’t want to distract him from the destination he has in mind. Bedroom, your mind shouts out and something warms deep inside that has nothing to do with the lust pouring through you.
You were happy with the floor but he wants you in the bed and you think if you could stay in this moment with this feeling thrumming through your veins, it would almost be enough. Almost. You’ve been biting and nipping and licking the sweat from his skin and then finally, finally, he stops and bends and you feel the cold sheets against your back. He stays standing to watch you again but you’re tired of waiting and a hand on each shoulder you tug him right down on top of you. His grunt puffs into the valley between your breasts and you feel your skin rise in response. He’s heavy but it’s good. It’s a living weight that molds around you, except where it doesn’t. You shift impatiently until you can feel him, so close to where you both want him to be, pressing hard against your inner thigh, not quite close enough. You wiggle some more because the movement brings him nearer and then he has one hand on your hip and one between your legs and you forget you had an aim that was bigger than his finger inside you and his palm against your clit.
There’s surprise on his face, and maybe a little awe in his eyes when you lock them with yours. You’re wetter than he expected and you moan low in you throat when he adds a second finger and twists them just right, just there and he must have extra arms because there’s a hand on your breast now pinching just hard enough and your hip still burns where it used to be. Another twist and you arch up against him, against his hands that are everywhere and you can feel him, every inch of you touching him, straining into him as his fingers work you undone. You fall back unrelaxed because it was good but not enough. His fingers have barely left you and you push hard at his chest, turning you over, bringing your body above his. You want to kiss him, you want to kiss and lick and taste and relearn every part of him. But you won’t, not now. No, now you’ll rush and hurry and forget that you’ve ever been apart and should maybe take the time to just be. You reach down between you and guide him inside and he hasn’t changed and neither have you but there’s something different and original and that’s how it’s always been between you, no matter how many times you repeat your loop.
You moan as you take him deeper, as his fingers dig into your flesh not pulling or pushing but holding and curling with the pulse of his heart. And this is it, he’s everywhere again and he’s everything and you take less time than you need to get used to him before rising and falling and starting a rhythm that has him almost separate from you again and then as deep as he can be without breaking you apart. And it’s fast, and hard and rough with his finger bruises and your bites across his lips as you bend forward a little and change the angle and there, right there. He groans as you clench around him, and you would smile but why bother when you can twist your hips and he bucks and then you’re on your back, control gone and you might say his name and he might say yours but the blood pounding in your ears is too loud. You could close your eyes but you can’t and locked with his you see everything there that you’ve been missing and you know he’s seeing it too before the lights burn brighter than you can stand and you’re dragging each other over the edge.
When you come down, he’s still on top, his body acting in place of the sheets crumpled up beneath you. His limbs are lax and still, heavy with sleep and you smile, shifting only until his head against your chest won’t keep you awake. Your fingers brush through the greying strands of his hair and you grimace when you feel dirt and blood. He needs a shower, another wince, so do you. He snores and you stifle a chuckle, then a yawn. Later, it can wait. You think back to this morning, to last week, when people were still living and his name was still hidden. You think back to classrooms and empty beds and you sigh with more contentment than you’ll ever admit you feel. It won’t be easy or simple or safe. And he’s still running and that will get old before you want. But it is what it is and what it is, is love and you can live with that. As you drift to sleep you hear your voice in your head; we are not getting back together, and this time you turn away from those words and into him.
: fini :
Please, let me know what you think...Liz might dance with you if you do.
Fandom: Sneakers (Movie)
Pairing: Liz/Bishop
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Romance, Smut
Summary: You wonder how you let yourself get here again. You fear you’ll keep coming back...
Length: 3,000+ words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Graphic Sex
Author's Note: Because...just because.
Elegantly Over the Rationals
“We’re not getting back together.”
It isn’t that you don’t want to. You do. And that, right there, is the problem. Is the reason you have to keep saying the words over and over. To him, to yourself. To the world that makes it impossible to live with him in it when you’re not together, but keeps you apart when you are. And you do mean the words. Every time you say them. And usually that’s enough. Usually he turns away after the first time because he doesn’t really need you and he has other things to do, other people to see. But this time, this time you keep seeing him, and with every look in his eyes your words are a little weaker.
You need to push him away. You need to walk from him again and this time not look back. But you can’t because he said that he needs you, needs at least part of what you were willing to give him before and you have to help him. You always have to help him when he asks because you promised you would. You didn’t know what that meant then, but that doesn’t change anything and you agree without letting your head think at all. You won’t blame it on your heart, because that means accepting that he has some hold on it. When you finally pull away, denial is all you’ll have left to cling to.
And you’re okay. You’re getting through and keeping some distance and it helps that just when you think you might fall they test your trust and he lets them. Helps them and doubts you. And if things were different, if it was before and you were less aware then the night might go another way. You might hide in the dark behind the office walls of glass, or in the closet just there in the corner. You might silence your screams in his shoulder and tighten your body around him. But it’s all the same and you spend the night staring up at the ceiling, Crease’s gun clicking in your ear. You wonder how you let yourself get here again. You fear you’ll keep coming back.
When you leave it takes everything you have. Even now, you want him, you need him. And that’s not something you ever want him to know. You would quite like not to know yourself, it would make pushing his hand away from your cheek easier. But when has it ever been easy between you? Easy would make things simple, would mean you could stay right here and not have to push him away again. But it’s not easy, and it hurts to know the truth; that he’ll keep on running until he can’t. You don’t look back as you leave, but you know he’s watching. Breathing in the morning air you know it’s not quite the end yet.
It’s never the end. No matter how many times you think it. No matter how many lines you draw in the sand, how many messages you listen to over and over but don’t return, it’s never over and it’s hard to blame yourself so you don’t. You blame him. You blame the blue eyes that glow when he looks at you, like you’re the greatest sneak he’s ever done. The catch in his voice when he told you who he really was and you kissed away the guilt. You blame every part of him that’s ever touched you, that’s ever held you close and turned you inside out, working you until you don’t care that he’s been missing for days and the guys keep telling you he’s fine but not around. It’s never over and so much of you is terrified that eventually, it will be.
You think it might be when you hear the news. When the man you doubted is dead and the things they’re saying are too familiar and make your heart pound the wrong way. People are dying and that’s never been part of the deal before. The other sneaks, the ones that still give you nightmares when he isn’t around. They were bad but this is death and you’re too scared to call the guys because their panic might break you. So you call him, and you think of blue eyes alive with life. But he doesn’t answer and you get no comfort from the cold weight of another’s voice. And then there are hours and minutes and seconds that you can’t fill with marking and planning. And everything is clean and packed away and you’ve showered and scrubbed and time is still ticking away the silence. Because you can’t call again and you still won’t call the guys. But you need to know. And maybe now, right now, you’re scared enough to admit you love him.
You love him. The way he watches you whenever you’re in a room together. The taste of his lips when you’ve waited all day and he’s finally come in from the cold. The feel of him inside you and over you and under you and everywhere at once because he’s all you can see and feel and you don’t think you’re missing anything at all. You love him because he told you his name when he didn’t have to, and still smiles when you call him Bishop instead. And he let you walk away when it got too much but didn’t let you run too far without chasing. And Crease is paranoid and he’s cautious and you wouldn’t have slept at home either. And you knew you loved him, told him over and over when it was a little less complicated. When it made less sense. But you love him now when you’ve fought all this time not to. And you’ll kill him if he’s dead when you’ve finally surrendered and given in. He’s won the battle and you’ve never wished for his smug smile like you do now.
And then he’s here again, bruised and battered and alive. He says he’s sorry and he always is. But he really means it and you forgave him when it wasn’t his voice at the end of the line. You fold into him, let him know without words where you are now, how far you’ve come. When you tell him all you can, you do it knowing there’s no going back. The plea in his eyes would have torn down the walls you’ve already flattened and you tell him you’re here knowing what that means too. You’ve been here before and this time you don’t have the strength to pull away again. This isn’t like the first time. You know you love him when you know you shouldn’t. You know now that running doesn’t keep him away and only wears you out. You know that keeping yourself away from him now you’ve let him back in will only tear you both apart.
He calls the guys and there’s a promise in his gaze that lights up every fire he’s ever touched in you. His eyes never leave you and you stop listening to his words because right now they don’t matter. Nothing matters except that he’s right here in front of you and if you needed the excuse the mud on his coat would be reason enough to strip him. You lick your lips and his eyes drop to follow; you don’t need the excuse and you step forward together to close the space that’s too big. He must have put the phone down because there’s nothing but you in his hands when he grabs your hips and pulls you close. You might have been in his arms before but this is in his hands and there’s a difference there that’s as great as the threat that’s looming over you all.
On your toes you’re only shorter by a bit and your cheek presses hot against his own. His breath puffs in your ear and it’s less comfort more thrill when you slide your arms beneath his coat and it speeds up. You tilt back and eyes open or closed your mouth will always find his without effort. Lips touching, teasing, little brushes that barely hint at how much you want him, but it’s everything you remember and more because it’s not memory but sense. One hand leaves your waist and tugs at the tie of your gown and that’s more than enough to make you push your lips hard against his and move your own hand to his neck. And he’s distracted by the opening of your mouth and the groan that escapes when his tongue seeks yours and you push closer because this isn’t enough; after all this time you need to be closer than you’ve ever been. The smirk that twists his lips against yours tells you he knows what you want, and you might be moving fast but he could have died and you’ve been fighting yourself so long. And he feels so good, rubbing the silk against your skin, hard and soft and hard and smooth and it’s all you can do not to push him to the floor but you gather your control and break the kiss. It cracks at the darkness of his eyes and surely you can’t be expected to hold on too long when he’s here and you can feel him against your thigh. And the floor’s clean and his hand finishes the work on your robe and slips inside and you don’t care if it’s the floor or the wall or the table by the door as long as it’s now. Right now.
He doesn’t expect you to lean into him and if you cared to you’d tell him you really have given in. But you don’t and you can’t really think with his hand on your breast and his mouth back on your own. He slides beneath more silk and circles and rubs and then squeezes and your body remembers enough to know what’s coming next. The anticipation pools straight between your thighs, another flick and it must have stopped time because when you open your eyes his lips are against your arched neck and his hands have pushed your robe completely away. Your nightgown slips to the floor with a whisper that makes you shiver and then you’re bare in his arms.
You know he’ll want to look, always does, but you still moan out your protest when he steps away and leaves you swaying on unsteady legs. The smug grin is back and this time it’s too much; he’s overdressed and the burn in his eyes is too controlled for you to like. The smile falters when you step close and slide your tongue into his mouth while your hands throw his coat across the room. His hands are hot against your skin but you twist free before his grip can tighten enough to burn away your restraint. He’s won and that’s fine, that’s perfect here and now, but you’re going to win a little too. You shake your head at the question in his eyes, take one hand in each of yours and pull them up above his head. His eyes flash, darkening further because you’re not hiding what you want and he’s a smart man when he wants to be. You think about taking it slow, sliding your hands up his sides inch by inch and teasing him beneath the sweater, but you catch sight of the cut by his eye and you remember why he’s here. You nearly lost him completely, you’ve no more time for slow.
If he’s surprised with the change in you, it doesn’t matter, you don’t care. You push the sweater up until he gets the hint and drop your hands to the zip at his fly. You’ve almost forgotten your exposure but as you pop the button and slip one hand in he pulls you tight up against him and you shudder at the touch. Skin to skin and the hair on his chest scratches your nipples in that way that makes them burn. Makes you burn. It’s too much and not enough and you tug until the material in your hands slides down his legs. It’s your turn to step back, to watch with glazing eyes as he kicks off the last of his clothes. You don’t remember him losing his shoes but he has. You’ve been distracted. He’s perfect in his imperfections; the lines growing across his face with time, the softness that hides his strength. A strength he reminds you of when his hands come back to your hips, gripping tight, lifting you up until you can wrap your legs around his waist. The angle isn’t right for what you really want, and the low growl he lets out when you try to shift says he knows it too but he’s waiting. For what you don’t ask, fighting yourself to keep still, hands tangling with his hair as you bring your lips to his ear. You don’t want to distract him from the destination he has in mind. Bedroom, your mind shouts out and something warms deep inside that has nothing to do with the lust pouring through you.
You were happy with the floor but he wants you in the bed and you think if you could stay in this moment with this feeling thrumming through your veins, it would almost be enough. Almost. You’ve been biting and nipping and licking the sweat from his skin and then finally, finally, he stops and bends and you feel the cold sheets against your back. He stays standing to watch you again but you’re tired of waiting and a hand on each shoulder you tug him right down on top of you. His grunt puffs into the valley between your breasts and you feel your skin rise in response. He’s heavy but it’s good. It’s a living weight that molds around you, except where it doesn’t. You shift impatiently until you can feel him, so close to where you both want him to be, pressing hard against your inner thigh, not quite close enough. You wiggle some more because the movement brings him nearer and then he has one hand on your hip and one between your legs and you forget you had an aim that was bigger than his finger inside you and his palm against your clit.
There’s surprise on his face, and maybe a little awe in his eyes when you lock them with yours. You’re wetter than he expected and you moan low in you throat when he adds a second finger and twists them just right, just there and he must have extra arms because there’s a hand on your breast now pinching just hard enough and your hip still burns where it used to be. Another twist and you arch up against him, against his hands that are everywhere and you can feel him, every inch of you touching him, straining into him as his fingers work you undone. You fall back unrelaxed because it was good but not enough. His fingers have barely left you and you push hard at his chest, turning you over, bringing your body above his. You want to kiss him, you want to kiss and lick and taste and relearn every part of him. But you won’t, not now. No, now you’ll rush and hurry and forget that you’ve ever been apart and should maybe take the time to just be. You reach down between you and guide him inside and he hasn’t changed and neither have you but there’s something different and original and that’s how it’s always been between you, no matter how many times you repeat your loop.
You moan as you take him deeper, as his fingers dig into your flesh not pulling or pushing but holding and curling with the pulse of his heart. And this is it, he’s everywhere again and he’s everything and you take less time than you need to get used to him before rising and falling and starting a rhythm that has him almost separate from you again and then as deep as he can be without breaking you apart. And it’s fast, and hard and rough with his finger bruises and your bites across his lips as you bend forward a little and change the angle and there, right there. He groans as you clench around him, and you would smile but why bother when you can twist your hips and he bucks and then you’re on your back, control gone and you might say his name and he might say yours but the blood pounding in your ears is too loud. You could close your eyes but you can’t and locked with his you see everything there that you’ve been missing and you know he’s seeing it too before the lights burn brighter than you can stand and you’re dragging each other over the edge.
When you come down, he’s still on top, his body acting in place of the sheets crumpled up beneath you. His limbs are lax and still, heavy with sleep and you smile, shifting only until his head against your chest won’t keep you awake. Your fingers brush through the greying strands of his hair and you grimace when you feel dirt and blood. He needs a shower, another wince, so do you. He snores and you stifle a chuckle, then a yawn. Later, it can wait. You think back to this morning, to last week, when people were still living and his name was still hidden. You think back to classrooms and empty beds and you sigh with more contentment than you’ll ever admit you feel. It won’t be easy or simple or safe. And he’s still running and that will get old before you want. But it is what it is and what it is, is love and you can live with that. As you drift to sleep you hear your voice in your head; we are not getting back together, and this time you turn away from those words and into him.
: fini :
Please, let me know what you think...Liz might dance with you if you do.