fic: kiss me, i'm dying
Title: kiss me, i'm dying
Fandom: Alphas
Pairing: Cameron(/Nina)/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Length: 700
Summary: It's the details that feed an obsession.
Notes: To fill 58. the girl who does not know herself, from the 100 Fairy Tale Prompts. I finally finished Season 1 of Alphas yesterday - I've been hoarding it in my Hulu queue, like Swiss chocolate, it's so goddamn good. And there's going to be a second season! This makes me happy in my pants SOUL - and now I can finally write fic! Title and cut text from Madonna's "Skin".
She is a good girl.
It's a fact. It's something everybody knows. Rachel is the good girl. A little - okay, a lot - anxious, nervous, sheltered, self-contained, maybe a little bit afraid - a walking stereotype, right? Except, she's also brave (Gary) and smart (Bill) and tenacious (Dr. Rosen).
She's a covert government operative, for crying out loud.
So, she's not always good. That's the part nobody knows. That she does things like this.
- - -
Mint and mustard. Toothpaste and lunch. Two rooms away, across a hallway, in the middle of another crisis, the dark tang of Cameron's blood all over her senses, she can taste him as he kisses Nina. Hear them, the sharp inhalations, moist abrasions of lips against lips, the lower pitch of his sigh, the mingling of pheromones, attraction, arousal.
Intrusive. Invasion of privacy. Indulgence. She has no excuse for how intimately she knows a man she's only ever touched in moments of necessity for their work.
- - -
She doesn't avoid him; it would be impossible to avoid him. They're on a team, they work together, they communicate, they share the same jokes as everyone else. But she doesn't get chummy. It's Nina he likes. And Nina likes him. Nina who is her friend and now her roommate.
It's an accident. It doesn't happen again. But it goes into the catalog.
- - -
There are no secrets. Not from her, Rachel of the super-hearing-sight-taste-everything. And she's getting better at focusing her skill, not letting herself get overwhelmed with information, she can shut out the relentless tide of sensory information to a degree. But Cameron - Hicks, she shouldn't think of him by his first name - from the beginning there is something about him that shatters her thin control. She can always smell him - she has avoided learning the exact names of his soap, deodorant, toothpaste, shaving cream, bargain laundry detergent, but she could find them in a store in seconds, she knows his resting heart rate - 63 - and the subtle down-shift of his cardiovascular system when the hyperkinesis kicks up to "things just got interesting" or "saving someone's life".
- - -
This isn't stealing. All this sensory...data...it's hers, it belongs to her. Her memories belong to her. It isn't eavesdropping anymore, not when the thing you heard/felt/smelled is past. And her fingers have learned a mind of their own.
- - -
Every once in a while, on the street, she will catch a drift - an approximate mixture - someone who smells like Cameron but doesn't breath like him, a stranger who walks in the same rhythm or grinds the same back right molars - an unconscious stress indicator - sometimes she catches the ghost of him at the periphery. Sometimes she actually enjoys walking down a crowded sidewalk.
- - -
Nobody knows this, what she does alone in the night, when Nina is out and the city is as quiet as it ever gets for her, she hardly knows herself in these moments even as she plays her body with the most intimate knowledge.
Far, far somewhere in the maze of her memories, she can always find it - find him. Mint and beer this time, the myriad flavors of his skin, his mouth. A drop of sweat falling from his face to the skin of the person beneath him - salty sweet, the chemistry of a body. A body in motion, intent, in a slow overdrive. The scrape of his fingers over female skin, the sandpaper of his face cradled in long fingers. The only sounds his blood thrumming so close under his skin, his ragged breaths.
It's all him, Cameron, Hicks, Cameron, man, the man, the only...
Her body bows, arcs, into air and memories, she keens, oh god, yes, for a moment she loses her senses entirely - to him, to the mystery - for a bright moment she is as home in her skin as she's ever been: the good, the bad, the everything.
Fandom: Alphas
Pairing: Cameron(/Nina)/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Length: 700
Summary: It's the details that feed an obsession.
Notes: To fill 58. the girl who does not know herself, from the 100 Fairy Tale Prompts. I finally finished Season 1 of Alphas yesterday - I've been hoarding it in my Hulu queue, like Swiss chocolate, it's so goddamn good. And there's going to be a second season! This makes me happy in my pants SOUL - and now I can finally write fic! Title and cut text from Madonna's "Skin".
She is a good girl.
It's a fact. It's something everybody knows. Rachel is the good girl. A little - okay, a lot - anxious, nervous, sheltered, self-contained, maybe a little bit afraid - a walking stereotype, right? Except, she's also brave (Gary) and smart (Bill) and tenacious (Dr. Rosen).
She's a covert government operative, for crying out loud.
So, she's not always good. That's the part nobody knows. That she does things like this.
- - -
Mint and mustard. Toothpaste and lunch. Two rooms away, across a hallway, in the middle of another crisis, the dark tang of Cameron's blood all over her senses, she can taste him as he kisses Nina. Hear them, the sharp inhalations, moist abrasions of lips against lips, the lower pitch of his sigh, the mingling of pheromones, attraction, arousal.
Intrusive. Invasion of privacy. Indulgence. She has no excuse for how intimately she knows a man she's only ever touched in moments of necessity for their work.
- - -
She doesn't avoid him; it would be impossible to avoid him. They're on a team, they work together, they communicate, they share the same jokes as everyone else. But she doesn't get chummy. It's Nina he likes. And Nina likes him. Nina who is her friend and now her roommate.
It's an accident. It doesn't happen again. But it goes into the catalog.
- - -
There are no secrets. Not from her, Rachel of the super-hearing-sight-taste-everything. And she's getting better at focusing her skill, not letting herself get overwhelmed with information, she can shut out the relentless tide of sensory information to a degree. But Cameron - Hicks, she shouldn't think of him by his first name - from the beginning there is something about him that shatters her thin control. She can always smell him - she has avoided learning the exact names of his soap, deodorant, toothpaste, shaving cream, bargain laundry detergent, but she could find them in a store in seconds, she knows his resting heart rate - 63 - and the subtle down-shift of his cardiovascular system when the hyperkinesis kicks up to "things just got interesting" or "saving someone's life".
- - -
This isn't stealing. All this sensory...data...it's hers, it belongs to her. Her memories belong to her. It isn't eavesdropping anymore, not when the thing you heard/felt/smelled is past. And her fingers have learned a mind of their own.
- - -
Every once in a while, on the street, she will catch a drift - an approximate mixture - someone who smells like Cameron but doesn't breath like him, a stranger who walks in the same rhythm or grinds the same back right molars - an unconscious stress indicator - sometimes she catches the ghost of him at the periphery. Sometimes she actually enjoys walking down a crowded sidewalk.
- - -
Nobody knows this, what she does alone in the night, when Nina is out and the city is as quiet as it ever gets for her, she hardly knows herself in these moments even as she plays her body with the most intimate knowledge.
Far, far somewhere in the maze of her memories, she can always find it - find him. Mint and beer this time, the myriad flavors of his skin, his mouth. A drop of sweat falling from his face to the skin of the person beneath him - salty sweet, the chemistry of a body. A body in motion, intent, in a slow overdrive. The scrape of his fingers over female skin, the sandpaper of his face cradled in long fingers. The only sounds his blood thrumming so close under his skin, his ragged breaths.
It's all him, Cameron, Hicks, Cameron, man, the man, the only...
Her body bows, arcs, into air and memories, she keens, oh god, yes, for a moment she loses her senses entirely - to him, to the mystery - for a bright moment she is as home in her skin as she's ever been: the good, the bad, the everything.