lyssie
in
femslash10
Spooks, Ruth/Zoe, Scenes of Indelicacy, R/NC17
Title: Scenes of Indelicacy
Author: ALC Punk!
For: sangerin
Rating: R/NC17 for language and sexual situations
Fandom: Spooks (MI-5)
Pairing: Ruth/Zoe
Word count: 1000+
Summary: It is what it is, and Ruth doesn't allow herself any illusions.
Ruth was never good at this sort of thing. She looks at Zoe, beautiful, dangerous, incredible, Zoe, and wonders who will leave first. This is dangerous territory, the little janitor's closet off the fifth floor.
"Should it be me?" she asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
There's a manual for situations like this, there are forms, and she can even name them all, even if she's never had the chance to use them. Not like Zoe, who's probably got a file crammed with them as she drifts from boyfriends to girlfriends to God knows what else. (if Ruth only knew the truth, she would probably be surprised)
"What?" Zoe looks like she wants to smoke, like that would be the perfect ending to this little farce.
"To leave."
That makes Zoe wake up just a little, as though she's been shaken by something. "No. No, I should think we go together."
"Forms?"
"No forms, Ruth. Not for this."
Not for her. Zoe doesn't think she even rates a form. Ruth feels her skin flush, and she ducks her head down, struggling to find her shirt, to arrange her skirt back into some semblance of normal. "I have tapes to review, a report to sort out. I--"
"Ruth, wait--" Zoe's hand catches her arm. "I didn't mean like, well, like that."
"Yes," says Ruth, her head up again, shirt half-way buttoned. "You did."
Zoe lets her go.
-=-
It's not that Ruth wants to find Zoe attractive, or that she doesn't want to fuck her (Ruth uses fuck when she thinks about it, because it's not love, it's not just sex. It's something darker, in a way she's read about; maybe dreamed of). It's that they're not supposed to do this sort of thing--but it still doesn't stop them meeting at an hotel, Zoe ordering a room under a name that Ruth never hears.
"It's this job, isn't it," says Zoe, afterwards.
Ruth is staring at the ceiling, counting dots and lines, wondering if all hotels have this sort of work done. This is only their second, and she tells herself they're not making a habit of the fucking.
Calling it that makes her want to giggle, and she claps a hand over her mouth while Zoe continues to speak.
"There's no way to get close to someone on the outside--" Zoe breaks off and laughs, the sound bitter. "That's the thing, isn't it. The outside. I make it sound like there's something wrong with us. We'e locked up and locked away."
"I've heard prison's worse. Or the CIA," offers Ruth.
They both laugh, allowing the natural territorial antagonism to distract them from the business of emotion.
-=-
Ruth doesn't like penetration, but Zoe does, and she thinks of strap-ons. And then badly-made lesbian porn, which isn't really sexy, and she doesn't tell Zoe why she's laughing, afraid she'll be laughed at, in return.
But it doesn't matter, because Zoe has a way with the pads of her fingers, the slip and slide of her tongue dancing down Ruth's belly, leaving slick trails that Ruth sometimes thinks should burn into her skin until she's exploding, and thinking in gibberish.
-=-
"I used to be jealous of you: you, Danny and Tom," Ruth's words drop into a silence punctuated only by the sound of Zoe's breathing as it tightens into gasps. "Part of the inner circle of the inner sanctum. No one could touch the three of you."
There is a pause, and Ruth finds herself slowing her fingers, even as Zoe's body trembles.
"I know differently, now."
"Oh, yes?" Zoe asks, ending on a gasp that begs to be a whimper. Her fingernails dig into Ruth's wrist, as though she can urge her on.
"You want to be a part of something, too."
"Maybe--"
Ruth smiles a little, as Zoe goes over the edge, her body taut before she sags.
"No maybes."
-=-
"Do you think they'd like to know about us fucking," Zoe asks, leg between Ruth's, teasing her with too-slow movements. "Me, naked under you, with my breath catching and the bed shaking?"
It's dirty and cruel when she says it like that, and Ruth wants to lash back, but doesn't. The sheets are already wet with Zoe's sweat, her fingers marked with Zoe's taste. "Filming a porno," Ruth blurts, "Me on top, ramming you with some ridiculously large cock?"
"Is that how you see us? Just titillation, just porn for someone else's entertainment?" There's a careful quality to Zoe's voice.
"Maybe." There's no point in the truth, and Ruth is no longer quite sure what the truth would be. Zoe's leg presses harder against her cunt, and Ruth thinks about how easy she is, how good Zoe makes her feel. "Please, Zoe. Don't tease."
Zoe's laughs, but there's still an edge to her, and Ruth files it away as another piece of the puzzle that is this thing between them.
-=-
Ruth and Zoe aren't awkward at work; they know professionalism. Zoe, especially, knows compartmentalization. Sometimes, Ruth has trouble with that. But then again, Harry isn't her only boss.
It's still different than it was before, and Ruth sometimes finds herself watching Zoe's hands, remembering that first, fumbling kiss in the closet that had led to so much more. They could have blamed the adrenaline, the rage and feeling of futility that had been wrapped around the entire office.
And perhaps they had. Ruth isn't sure anymore, how it happened.
-=-
"I was thinking. Of going away for the weekend," Ruth murmurs, on her side as she watches Zoe dress. There are finger-marks on her hips and she would flush at having made them, but she's still feeling smug about it.
Zoe pauses, her eyes wide, "Ruth--"
"No--not for--" Ruth shakes her head. Even though that was exactly why she'd been thinking about it. Zoe, all to herself for an entire two days. "I just, I never really take vacations, I thought you might suggest a place."
"Oh, no. I'm sorry," Zoe's shaking her head now, looking abashed. "I'm afraid I don't know anywhere. I'm as bad as you, when it comes to taking time off."
It shouldn't be a surprise, and Ruth wants to ask her if she's lying. She can't really believe someone like Zoe doesn't do normal things, like vacations. But then again, it's the job, as Zoe had said once. "D'you think I should ask Harry?"
Zoe breaks into giggles, and Ruth throws the pillow.
-=-
They go to hotels, but they don't fall asleep. Ruth doesn't wake with Zoe's morning breath coloring the air around her.
It's not efficient, it's not business-like. Sometimes, they both get off. Sometimes, Ruth's too rattled by what she's doing to really get into it (it's only later, in her own bed that she remembers Zoe's urgent movements, the hitch in her breath that gets Ruth off all on her own, because Ruth made her sound like that).
There's no obscuring the truth that Zoe's body likes what Ruth's fingers can do, that Zoe enjoys their encounters.
It's off the books, but it is what it is.
-f-
Author: ALC Punk!
For: sangerin
Rating: R/NC17 for language and sexual situations
Fandom: Spooks (MI-5)
Pairing: Ruth/Zoe
Word count: 1000+
Summary: It is what it is, and Ruth doesn't allow herself any illusions.
Ruth was never good at this sort of thing. She looks at Zoe, beautiful, dangerous, incredible, Zoe, and wonders who will leave first. This is dangerous territory, the little janitor's closet off the fifth floor.
"Should it be me?" she asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
There's a manual for situations like this, there are forms, and she can even name them all, even if she's never had the chance to use them. Not like Zoe, who's probably got a file crammed with them as she drifts from boyfriends to girlfriends to God knows what else. (if Ruth only knew the truth, she would probably be surprised)
"What?" Zoe looks like she wants to smoke, like that would be the perfect ending to this little farce.
"To leave."
That makes Zoe wake up just a little, as though she's been shaken by something. "No. No, I should think we go together."
"Forms?"
"No forms, Ruth. Not for this."
Not for her. Zoe doesn't think she even rates a form. Ruth feels her skin flush, and she ducks her head down, struggling to find her shirt, to arrange her skirt back into some semblance of normal. "I have tapes to review, a report to sort out. I--"
"Ruth, wait--" Zoe's hand catches her arm. "I didn't mean like, well, like that."
"Yes," says Ruth, her head up again, shirt half-way buttoned. "You did."
Zoe lets her go.
-=-
It's not that Ruth wants to find Zoe attractive, or that she doesn't want to fuck her (Ruth uses fuck when she thinks about it, because it's not love, it's not just sex. It's something darker, in a way she's read about; maybe dreamed of). It's that they're not supposed to do this sort of thing--but it still doesn't stop them meeting at an hotel, Zoe ordering a room under a name that Ruth never hears.
"It's this job, isn't it," says Zoe, afterwards.
Ruth is staring at the ceiling, counting dots and lines, wondering if all hotels have this sort of work done. This is only their second, and she tells herself they're not making a habit of the fucking.
Calling it that makes her want to giggle, and she claps a hand over her mouth while Zoe continues to speak.
"There's no way to get close to someone on the outside--" Zoe breaks off and laughs, the sound bitter. "That's the thing, isn't it. The outside. I make it sound like there's something wrong with us. We'e locked up and locked away."
"I've heard prison's worse. Or the CIA," offers Ruth.
They both laugh, allowing the natural territorial antagonism to distract them from the business of emotion.
-=-
Ruth doesn't like penetration, but Zoe does, and she thinks of strap-ons. And then badly-made lesbian porn, which isn't really sexy, and she doesn't tell Zoe why she's laughing, afraid she'll be laughed at, in return.
But it doesn't matter, because Zoe has a way with the pads of her fingers, the slip and slide of her tongue dancing down Ruth's belly, leaving slick trails that Ruth sometimes thinks should burn into her skin until she's exploding, and thinking in gibberish.
-=-
"I used to be jealous of you: you, Danny and Tom," Ruth's words drop into a silence punctuated only by the sound of Zoe's breathing as it tightens into gasps. "Part of the inner circle of the inner sanctum. No one could touch the three of you."
There is a pause, and Ruth finds herself slowing her fingers, even as Zoe's body trembles.
"I know differently, now."
"Oh, yes?" Zoe asks, ending on a gasp that begs to be a whimper. Her fingernails dig into Ruth's wrist, as though she can urge her on.
"You want to be a part of something, too."
"Maybe--"
Ruth smiles a little, as Zoe goes over the edge, her body taut before she sags.
"No maybes."
-=-
"Do you think they'd like to know about us fucking," Zoe asks, leg between Ruth's, teasing her with too-slow movements. "Me, naked under you, with my breath catching and the bed shaking?"
It's dirty and cruel when she says it like that, and Ruth wants to lash back, but doesn't. The sheets are already wet with Zoe's sweat, her fingers marked with Zoe's taste. "Filming a porno," Ruth blurts, "Me on top, ramming you with some ridiculously large cock?"
"Is that how you see us? Just titillation, just porn for someone else's entertainment?" There's a careful quality to Zoe's voice.
"Maybe." There's no point in the truth, and Ruth is no longer quite sure what the truth would be. Zoe's leg presses harder against her cunt, and Ruth thinks about how easy she is, how good Zoe makes her feel. "Please, Zoe. Don't tease."
Zoe's laughs, but there's still an edge to her, and Ruth files it away as another piece of the puzzle that is this thing between them.
-=-
Ruth and Zoe aren't awkward at work; they know professionalism. Zoe, especially, knows compartmentalization. Sometimes, Ruth has trouble with that. But then again, Harry isn't her only boss.
It's still different than it was before, and Ruth sometimes finds herself watching Zoe's hands, remembering that first, fumbling kiss in the closet that had led to so much more. They could have blamed the adrenaline, the rage and feeling of futility that had been wrapped around the entire office.
And perhaps they had. Ruth isn't sure anymore, how it happened.
-=-
"I was thinking. Of going away for the weekend," Ruth murmurs, on her side as she watches Zoe dress. There are finger-marks on her hips and she would flush at having made them, but she's still feeling smug about it.
Zoe pauses, her eyes wide, "Ruth--"
"No--not for--" Ruth shakes her head. Even though that was exactly why she'd been thinking about it. Zoe, all to herself for an entire two days. "I just, I never really take vacations, I thought you might suggest a place."
"Oh, no. I'm sorry," Zoe's shaking her head now, looking abashed. "I'm afraid I don't know anywhere. I'm as bad as you, when it comes to taking time off."
It shouldn't be a surprise, and Ruth wants to ask her if she's lying. She can't really believe someone like Zoe doesn't do normal things, like vacations. But then again, it's the job, as Zoe had said once. "D'you think I should ask Harry?"
Zoe breaks into giggles, and Ruth throws the pillow.
-=-
They go to hotels, but they don't fall asleep. Ruth doesn't wake with Zoe's morning breath coloring the air around her.
It's not efficient, it's not business-like. Sometimes, they both get off. Sometimes, Ruth's too rattled by what she's doing to really get into it (it's only later, in her own bed that she remembers Zoe's urgent movements, the hitch in her breath that gets Ruth off all on her own, because Ruth made her sound like that).
There's no obscuring the truth that Zoe's body likes what Ruth's fingers can do, that Zoe enjoys their encounters.
It's off the books, but it is what it is.
-f-