fic: Blake's 7 How much is real, Cally/Travis
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: 18+ sex, violence, etc.
Set: post-season three of Blake's 7.
Pairing: Travis/Cally
Notes: this's for RSR. Sleeeepy.
length: er, 1,000+
How much is real
by ALC Punk!
She doesn't remember when the sex started.
Possibly after the third Federation depot, when they were both laughing madly at something.
There had been too many troops at the fourth, and she's pretty sure he only backed her into the wall because he needed to affirm she was alive. Which was far too sentimental for him, so she's grateful he got off first.
It's after they take out the communications base on Kentrazi that she gets him on his back. His hands are on her hips, his mouth on her breasts, and he's better at it. Maybe practice makes perfect or the adrenaline in her is enough to boost her subconscious needs into his mind.
She takes three days to consider that before trying it deliberately.
"Don't manipulate me, Cally." His eye is scornful as he looks up at her.
Twitching her hips, she watches the pleasure flicker through his eyes. "I have no--"
His fingers dig into her sides. "Cally. I'm not some toy for you to bat across the room like a cat who needs entertainment."
"Aren't you?" She bends down, and she knows his fingers will leave bruises. But she's more interested in something else. When their lips are close enough, she whispers, "But I thought you liked being a pawn, Travis."
It's not quite a surprise when he shoves her to the side and gets up with a snarl.
Cally sleeps alone for two weeks, and he doesn't look her in the eye until the day after they see Servalan.
She hates him. She's hated him since he stuck needles in her mind and used her against Blake. But she can't hate him for what he's doing to the Federation. Not when she's doing the same thing. In the end, letting her hatred go seems easier than planning exactly how she'll kill him.
The night she wakes up from a memory of Chenga, he's standing in her doorway, watching her. There are people in her memory, floating around the room, crying out as their life is extinguished. Full of pain, and the certainty that they'd survived the worst. Except they hadn't, of course.
It's not contempt in his eyes, though she wonders, as she retrieves bits of herself from the air and his mind, whether he should hold her in contempt and disgust.
Three Federation outposts, one communications gaffe, and ten explosions later, he has his hand between her legs when he asks, conversationally, "Body farm?"
She blames the little girl who'd stared lifelessly at them, her body in shreds for the memory.
Fighting her stomach, she pulls away from him. The fight ends, and she isn't the winner. All pleasure left behind as she doubles over and retches until she's heaving up nothing but air.
Travis hands her a towel, deals with her pants and gets her back to their ship without a word.
"I'd heard of it," he remarks when she's on the floor, back to the wall.
She could be more of a cliche, but she doesn't have her knees drawn up to her chest. And she doesn't feel like a lost little girl, either. "Have you."
"Rumor, mostly. Conjecture." He tosses the spare detonators into a cabinet and moves to the forward compartment.
Somehow, the rumor and conjecture prove more than enough. Cally stands outside the dome, watching it burn from within and feels nothing. No sadness at the loss of life, no rage at what they'd nearly done to her. She does feel, somewhere, a morbid satisfaction.
It's possible the organ bank on Chenga would have provided life and salvation for generations to come. But Cally doesn't care.
"Revenge."
"No." Cally turns and heads back into the woods. Vila's friend Lom is nearby, but he fades away a second after she notices him. "Mercy."
Later, he's almost gentle as he kisses his way down her body. She leaves scratches in his back and a bite mark in his shoulder that turns into an ugly bruise.
The pattern changes then. Imperceptibly, or perhaps it was always changing and it's only after the fact that she can see it. The forays into Federation territory become more dangerous, less likely to succeed. And always, as they climb one more wall, blow up one more facility, they stalk her.
It's unspoken, of course.
But they both have their reasons to despise her. So many have reasons to want Servalan dead, Cally sometimes wonders if they're simply unique in their agreement to do so.
He's learned so easily exactly how to make her come that she wants to be scared. And it's not that she doesn't know the same about him--she does. And she knows other things he would prefer she didn't. A girl in his past, her eyes cornflower blue and her skin too pale. Cally got that after one particularly adrenaline-fueled encounter that left them sweat-soaked and unable to move from the pilot's chair.
Travis had complained bitterly about his ass sticking to it, while she'd lazily slipped through his mind.
It wasn't an exercise she did consciously--not precisely, at least. But there was so much that no one knew about him anymore (even his loyal soldiers are now all dead--killed in the war, or after, or left to die in starvation in half a dozen prisons while Earth takes care of its own decadence). She wanted to know something about him that no one else had.
And so she found the girl. Traced her thighs with Travis' fingers, and sucked down her cries of pleasure with his mouth.
Drunk on that success, she'd pressed harder, and he'd reacted. Mental blocks falling down, eyes full of rage as he shoved her away from him. "Stop that."
Cally had been bruised by the console she'd slammed into. "I--"
"No."
End of conversation, because he was up and gone, leaving her with a piece of his past to inspect.
She'd been right that they all had their own reasons for destroying Servalan.
Two days later, they stand on Earth. The cloud-cover keeps the sunlight from feeling fresh, and the scent of rain hangs heavy in the air. Cally's almost wishing she'd brought an umbrella as they walk out of the woods and into the grounds of the estate.
No one stops them, and it feels strange--or as if it's happened before.
It's not the same mansion, not the same courtyard where dusk provided the cover, and the sound of booted feet came from within as the revolution spawned itself into nothing. There's no Anna Grant to shatter one more slice of peace.
But it feels the same.
Cally leads, stopping at the monitor room and finding it empty.
They spend hours searching and come up blank. There's no dust, but there simply is no sign of Servalan (calling herself Sleer now) or her retinue.
"Pity."
"The intelligence was supposed to be infallible."
Travis shrugs. "Could've been worse."
"No blaze of glory yet," she replies, mocking the both of them.
At the top of the stairs, they find Servalan's bedroom. Neither of them can resist the lure of her silk sheets, and Cally finds herself on top, staring down at him. His eyes are closed, hands almost gentle at her hips as he meets her movements with ones of his own. She's not surprised by the cry that tears from her, and she sucks his down with her mouth, swallowing the grunting moan like she would a fine wine.
With the sweat still slick on her skin, she kisses him gently and then slides away. "We should go back."
"To what?"
"Blowing things up."
It's enough of an answer for him, and he's off the bed and out the door before she's finished tying her boots.
The house burns merrily as they watch from a hill.
"We'll find her again." it's not a promise. Something like that can't be. Not with Servalan's ability to escape death.
"I know."
Neither of them looks back as they head off into the night.
-f
Set: post-season three of Blake's 7.
Pairing: Travis/Cally
Notes: this's for RSR. Sleeeepy.
length: er, 1,000+
How much is real
by ALC Punk!
She doesn't remember when the sex started.
Possibly after the third Federation depot, when they were both laughing madly at something.
There had been too many troops at the fourth, and she's pretty sure he only backed her into the wall because he needed to affirm she was alive. Which was far too sentimental for him, so she's grateful he got off first.
It's after they take out the communications base on Kentrazi that she gets him on his back. His hands are on her hips, his mouth on her breasts, and he's better at it. Maybe practice makes perfect or the adrenaline in her is enough to boost her subconscious needs into his mind.
She takes three days to consider that before trying it deliberately.
"Don't manipulate me, Cally." His eye is scornful as he looks up at her.
Twitching her hips, she watches the pleasure flicker through his eyes. "I have no--"
His fingers dig into her sides. "Cally. I'm not some toy for you to bat across the room like a cat who needs entertainment."
"Aren't you?" She bends down, and she knows his fingers will leave bruises. But she's more interested in something else. When their lips are close enough, she whispers, "But I thought you liked being a pawn, Travis."
It's not quite a surprise when he shoves her to the side and gets up with a snarl.
Cally sleeps alone for two weeks, and he doesn't look her in the eye until the day after they see Servalan.
She hates him. She's hated him since he stuck needles in her mind and used her against Blake. But she can't hate him for what he's doing to the Federation. Not when she's doing the same thing. In the end, letting her hatred go seems easier than planning exactly how she'll kill him.
The night she wakes up from a memory of Chenga, he's standing in her doorway, watching her. There are people in her memory, floating around the room, crying out as their life is extinguished. Full of pain, and the certainty that they'd survived the worst. Except they hadn't, of course.
It's not contempt in his eyes, though she wonders, as she retrieves bits of herself from the air and his mind, whether he should hold her in contempt and disgust.
Three Federation outposts, one communications gaffe, and ten explosions later, he has his hand between her legs when he asks, conversationally, "Body farm?"
She blames the little girl who'd stared lifelessly at them, her body in shreds for the memory.
Fighting her stomach, she pulls away from him. The fight ends, and she isn't the winner. All pleasure left behind as she doubles over and retches until she's heaving up nothing but air.
Travis hands her a towel, deals with her pants and gets her back to their ship without a word.
"I'd heard of it," he remarks when she's on the floor, back to the wall.
She could be more of a cliche, but she doesn't have her knees drawn up to her chest. And she doesn't feel like a lost little girl, either. "Have you."
"Rumor, mostly. Conjecture." He tosses the spare detonators into a cabinet and moves to the forward compartment.
Somehow, the rumor and conjecture prove more than enough. Cally stands outside the dome, watching it burn from within and feels nothing. No sadness at the loss of life, no rage at what they'd nearly done to her. She does feel, somewhere, a morbid satisfaction.
It's possible the organ bank on Chenga would have provided life and salvation for generations to come. But Cally doesn't care.
"Revenge."
"No." Cally turns and heads back into the woods. Vila's friend Lom is nearby, but he fades away a second after she notices him. "Mercy."
Later, he's almost gentle as he kisses his way down her body. She leaves scratches in his back and a bite mark in his shoulder that turns into an ugly bruise.
The pattern changes then. Imperceptibly, or perhaps it was always changing and it's only after the fact that she can see it. The forays into Federation territory become more dangerous, less likely to succeed. And always, as they climb one more wall, blow up one more facility, they stalk her.
It's unspoken, of course.
But they both have their reasons to despise her. So many have reasons to want Servalan dead, Cally sometimes wonders if they're simply unique in their agreement to do so.
He's learned so easily exactly how to make her come that she wants to be scared. And it's not that she doesn't know the same about him--she does. And she knows other things he would prefer she didn't. A girl in his past, her eyes cornflower blue and her skin too pale. Cally got that after one particularly adrenaline-fueled encounter that left them sweat-soaked and unable to move from the pilot's chair.
Travis had complained bitterly about his ass sticking to it, while she'd lazily slipped through his mind.
It wasn't an exercise she did consciously--not precisely, at least. But there was so much that no one knew about him anymore (even his loyal soldiers are now all dead--killed in the war, or after, or left to die in starvation in half a dozen prisons while Earth takes care of its own decadence). She wanted to know something about him that no one else had.
And so she found the girl. Traced her thighs with Travis' fingers, and sucked down her cries of pleasure with his mouth.
Drunk on that success, she'd pressed harder, and he'd reacted. Mental blocks falling down, eyes full of rage as he shoved her away from him. "Stop that."
Cally had been bruised by the console she'd slammed into. "I--"
"No."
End of conversation, because he was up and gone, leaving her with a piece of his past to inspect.
She'd been right that they all had their own reasons for destroying Servalan.
Two days later, they stand on Earth. The cloud-cover keeps the sunlight from feeling fresh, and the scent of rain hangs heavy in the air. Cally's almost wishing she'd brought an umbrella as they walk out of the woods and into the grounds of the estate.
No one stops them, and it feels strange--or as if it's happened before.
It's not the same mansion, not the same courtyard where dusk provided the cover, and the sound of booted feet came from within as the revolution spawned itself into nothing. There's no Anna Grant to shatter one more slice of peace.
But it feels the same.
Cally leads, stopping at the monitor room and finding it empty.
They spend hours searching and come up blank. There's no dust, but there simply is no sign of Servalan (calling herself Sleer now) or her retinue.
"Pity."
"The intelligence was supposed to be infallible."
Travis shrugs. "Could've been worse."
"No blaze of glory yet," she replies, mocking the both of them.
At the top of the stairs, they find Servalan's bedroom. Neither of them can resist the lure of her silk sheets, and Cally finds herself on top, staring down at him. His eyes are closed, hands almost gentle at her hips as he meets her movements with ones of his own. She's not surprised by the cry that tears from her, and she sucks his down with her mouth, swallowing the grunting moan like she would a fine wine.
With the sweat still slick on her skin, she kisses him gently and then slides away. "We should go back."
"To what?"
"Blowing things up."
It's enough of an answer for him, and he's off the bed and out the door before she's finished tying her boots.
The house burns merrily as they watch from a hill.
"We'll find her again." it's not a promise. Something like that can't be. Not with Servalan's ability to escape death.
"I know."
Neither of them looks back as they head off into the night.
-f