Quick question...with Bones, are you caught up with last night's episode? I have a little idea that could come to fruition but wouldn't want to spoil you if you haven't seen the most recent ep.
I See You Quiver With - touching, Glee, Puck/Lauren, PG-13emerald_embersMay 15 2011, 04:24:39 UTC
Despite his occasionally making protests to the contrary, Puck's relationship with Lauren did not consist entirely of personal abuse and blue balls. Yes, she did seem to take a sadistic pleasure in constantly belittling him, and yes, he had yet to be introduced to her vagina, but Lauren's restrictions weren't slowly turning him into a monk
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Re: I See You Quiver With - touching, Glee, Puck/Lauren, PG-13emerald_embersMay 19 2011, 17:14:41 UTC
Thank you so much :D. I tend to watch Glee a little bit on/off, but I pretty much always keep up to date on these two and Kurt/Blaine to see what's going on. I'm glad you enjoyed this!
It is not at all strange that this is the place she ends up. His apartment, his room, his bed, in tears against him. The thought actually enters her mind: this is not at all strange. She thinks perhaps it should be. But here she is, here they are, and some time later she stops crying, quiet against his chest; she feels it rise and fall with his breaths. Her head is heavy and aching, and she lays perfectly still.
His hand finds hers; their fingers brush, palms pressed together. She can still hear Vincent's pleadings in her mind (don't make me leave) and she turns his hand in hers, needing something else to focus on. Eyes closed, she sees his hand in her mind's eye and methodically she begins tracing his bones.
She's always loved hands, she thinks, the fact the bones there can be felt so easily through the skin. Her lips move as she recites them to herself and she outlines each one, slowly, with a fingertip. Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, hamate. At some point she allows herself to whisper aloud as
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It is not at all strange that this is the place she ends up. His apartment, his room, his bed, in tears against him. The thought actually enters her mind: this is not at all strange. She thinks perhaps it should be. But here she is, here they are, and some time later she stops crying, quiet against his chest; she feels it rise and fall with his breaths. Her head is heavy and aching, and she lays perfectly still.
His hand finds hers; their fingers brush, palms pressed together. She can still hear Vincent's pleadings in her mind (don't make me leave) and she turns his hand in hers, needing something else to focus on. Eyes closed, she sees his hand in her mind's eye and methodically she begins tracing his bones.
She's always loved hands, she thinks, the fact the bones there can be felt so easily through the skin. Her lips move as she recites them to herself and she outlines each one, slowly, with a fingertip. Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, hamate. At some point she allows herself to whisper aloud as ( ... )
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