fic: friction (lie to me)
Title: Friction.
Author: Yours truly.
Summary: Gillian Foster is only human.
Pairing: Gillian/Ben, Gillian/Cal.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: Fold Equity.
Disclaimer: Oh, not mine.
Author's note: SO. After reading some theories and whatnot this hit me like woa and no matter how much I love Cal/Gillian my brain and my fingers betrayed me. So here it is. It's a one shot post Fold Equity and I'm not sure how to specify pairings. I'm not sure which sandbox it will please, but I figure there are enough multi shippers that can enjoy this piece. I had fun writing it, so I hope many of you will have fun reading :)
Thanks askita for taking a look.
--
There were many things Gillian Foster was not: irresponsible, impulsive, vindictive, juvenile, but as her delicate fingers brushed the texture of Reynolds' dark shirt and slid it off his shoulders she realized she wasn't immune to the traits; wondered if maybe Cal's stupidity hadn't rubbed off on her after all. She could make a list of reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this but this was Vegas and if Cal could let the part of him she hated so much control his persona, then why couldn’t she?
When fingers sneaked down her back she tried to ignore the little voice in her head warning her that this was wrong and reckless and that these weren’t his fingers closing around a fistful of her black dress. The dress she had worn to impress.
His lips pressed firmly against her, an unfamiliar intimacy as the kisses grew stronger and deeper and hungry and angry and there was nothing gentle about the way she was kissing him; demanding and desperate, imagining that when she kissed him for the first time there’d be a similar desperation cursing through her veins; less angry, more needy.
To say she was pissed was an understatement. She was furious with him, with Cal and his irresponsibility. And admittedly, jealousy was a part of the fire burning inside of her, consuming her thoughts and self control. He had slept with the one person she had warned him about, the human roulette, with Poppy, only to lose 1 million dollars betting on the worst possible odds of the real roulette, those damned double zeroes. Money they needed, their company needed because he had put them under financial instability. She knew Vegas brought out the worst in him; she had seen it, experienced it, learned to deal with and tried to make him control it; she had just never known it could bring out the complete and utter and raw stupidity that one person was capable of having.
If she could allow herself to be hurt by him then she would enjoy this; she would enjoy trying to hurt him too. Do something he wouldn’t expect and not even lie about it later.
He tasted like alcohol; his smell a mix of vodka and tequila and laughter and male cologne and no attachments and she was okay with that because this was stupid and she’d regret it come morning; the roughness of his goatee whisking across her face, tickling and scratching gently, in a way she had always imagine Cal’s constant scruff would feel like against her skin.
When her dress came off and his hands were all over her and her hands were on his chest it looked odd; his skin too dark and her skin too pale and for a flash of a moment her sense kicked in but then he touched the right places and she felt things she hadn’t felt in a while and her anger told her to shut up: she was too drunk and angry and aroused to care about principles and ethics and good sense.
She had been blind with anger and the alcohol had been welcome. After she started getting under the influence and things became a little too complicated she simply let herself fall into something she’d never be able to undo. She was just going to embrace the Vegas, she had told herself, and she would just enjoy it the way Cal always seemed to.
They had been given five star hotel rooms; big beds and big windows and big views, and as she fell back into the mattress the silk sheets felt cool and gentle against her bare skin and the alcohol in her veins didn’t let her feel exposed. Reynolds’ body was firm and big and shaped, certainly nice to look at and slowly, as her hands wandered about, she learned it was nice to touch as well.
She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down his hips, not even noticing that her bra was off and her panties were following the same path. There was something primal in this; not enough emotions, no love or caring, just lust and the raw necessity of relieving tension. Gillian knew, as her legs locked around his hips, that sex was all it was about, that there would be consequences to be deal with later, that her anger made her teeth clench, made her eyes stay closed, made her beg him to thrust harder and harder and harder until it hurt, until pain and pleasure became one and her body went rigid with release.
Later, while he slept, she lay in bed frowning at the ceiling wondering how bad it would be in the morning. She couldn’t deny the sex had been great, not only the action itself, but the fact that she had done it with somebody else other than Alec, something that hadn’t happened in many years, but it had been done for the wrong reasons.
It still felt weird and awkward to be in bed with him, even if he was still sleeping, even after what they had done, what they had seen. The alcohol hadn’t been enough to wipe her memories so she’d have to deal with the aftermath full aware of them. There had been no cuddling or touching afterwards, not enough words or talking and looking and she were grateful that he was a fast and deep sleeper. The emotional distance would make it just a little bit easier in the morning.
Gillian moved quietly, making sure not to wake Reynolds, and slipped out of bed. Quickly putting on her panties and dress, she let her bra for later and left in silence, her shoes in one hand, and her heart on the other, her emotions in a quiet turmoil.
Before she closed her own door, and felt the relief of being within the safety of her own hotel room, she saw Cal waiting for her inside and she instantly knew this was going to be harder than facing Ben Reynolds when the time came.
So, that's about it. I'm not entirely happy with the result but after a couple of days giving myself time to think it over and do my edits and still not happy, I figured I'd just post it. Reviews? *is nervous*
x-posted. Sorry if it appears on your flist a gazillion times :/
Author: Yours truly.
Summary: Gillian Foster is only human.
Pairing: Gillian/Ben, Gillian/Cal.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: Fold Equity.
Disclaimer: Oh, not mine.
Author's note: SO. After reading some theories and whatnot this hit me like woa and no matter how much I love Cal/Gillian my brain and my fingers betrayed me. So here it is. It's a one shot post Fold Equity and I'm not sure how to specify pairings. I'm not sure which sandbox it will please, but I figure there are enough multi shippers that can enjoy this piece. I had fun writing it, so I hope many of you will have fun reading :)
Thanks askita for taking a look.
--
There were many things Gillian Foster was not: irresponsible, impulsive, vindictive, juvenile, but as her delicate fingers brushed the texture of Reynolds' dark shirt and slid it off his shoulders she realized she wasn't immune to the traits; wondered if maybe Cal's stupidity hadn't rubbed off on her after all. She could make a list of reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this but this was Vegas and if Cal could let the part of him she hated so much control his persona, then why couldn’t she?
When fingers sneaked down her back she tried to ignore the little voice in her head warning her that this was wrong and reckless and that these weren’t his fingers closing around a fistful of her black dress. The dress she had worn to impress.
His lips pressed firmly against her, an unfamiliar intimacy as the kisses grew stronger and deeper and hungry and angry and there was nothing gentle about the way she was kissing him; demanding and desperate, imagining that when she kissed him for the first time there’d be a similar desperation cursing through her veins; less angry, more needy.
To say she was pissed was an understatement. She was furious with him, with Cal and his irresponsibility. And admittedly, jealousy was a part of the fire burning inside of her, consuming her thoughts and self control. He had slept with the one person she had warned him about, the human roulette, with Poppy, only to lose 1 million dollars betting on the worst possible odds of the real roulette, those damned double zeroes. Money they needed, their company needed because he had put them under financial instability. She knew Vegas brought out the worst in him; she had seen it, experienced it, learned to deal with and tried to make him control it; she had just never known it could bring out the complete and utter and raw stupidity that one person was capable of having.
If she could allow herself to be hurt by him then she would enjoy this; she would enjoy trying to hurt him too. Do something he wouldn’t expect and not even lie about it later.
He tasted like alcohol; his smell a mix of vodka and tequila and laughter and male cologne and no attachments and she was okay with that because this was stupid and she’d regret it come morning; the roughness of his goatee whisking across her face, tickling and scratching gently, in a way she had always imagine Cal’s constant scruff would feel like against her skin.
When her dress came off and his hands were all over her and her hands were on his chest it looked odd; his skin too dark and her skin too pale and for a flash of a moment her sense kicked in but then he touched the right places and she felt things she hadn’t felt in a while and her anger told her to shut up: she was too drunk and angry and aroused to care about principles and ethics and good sense.
She had been blind with anger and the alcohol had been welcome. After she started getting under the influence and things became a little too complicated she simply let herself fall into something she’d never be able to undo. She was just going to embrace the Vegas, she had told herself, and she would just enjoy it the way Cal always seemed to.
They had been given five star hotel rooms; big beds and big windows and big views, and as she fell back into the mattress the silk sheets felt cool and gentle against her bare skin and the alcohol in her veins didn’t let her feel exposed. Reynolds’ body was firm and big and shaped, certainly nice to look at and slowly, as her hands wandered about, she learned it was nice to touch as well.
She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down his hips, not even noticing that her bra was off and her panties were following the same path. There was something primal in this; not enough emotions, no love or caring, just lust and the raw necessity of relieving tension. Gillian knew, as her legs locked around his hips, that sex was all it was about, that there would be consequences to be deal with later, that her anger made her teeth clench, made her eyes stay closed, made her beg him to thrust harder and harder and harder until it hurt, until pain and pleasure became one and her body went rigid with release.
Later, while he slept, she lay in bed frowning at the ceiling wondering how bad it would be in the morning. She couldn’t deny the sex had been great, not only the action itself, but the fact that she had done it with somebody else other than Alec, something that hadn’t happened in many years, but it had been done for the wrong reasons.
It still felt weird and awkward to be in bed with him, even if he was still sleeping, even after what they had done, what they had seen. The alcohol hadn’t been enough to wipe her memories so she’d have to deal with the aftermath full aware of them. There had been no cuddling or touching afterwards, not enough words or talking and looking and she were grateful that he was a fast and deep sleeper. The emotional distance would make it just a little bit easier in the morning.
Gillian moved quietly, making sure not to wake Reynolds, and slipped out of bed. Quickly putting on her panties and dress, she let her bra for later and left in silence, her shoes in one hand, and her heart on the other, her emotions in a quiet turmoil.
Before she closed her own door, and felt the relief of being within the safety of her own hotel room, she saw Cal waiting for her inside and she instantly knew this was going to be harder than facing Ben Reynolds when the time came.
So, that's about it. I'm not entirely happy with the result but after a couple of days giving myself time to think it over and do my edits and still not happy, I figured I'd just post it. Reviews? *is nervous*
x-posted. Sorry if it appears on your flist a gazillion times :/