SaSsy Fics
I'm so amazed that I didn't know this community existed before now. Yay for SaSsy!
I've written three Sara/Sofia fics up to this point, and I have another, longer fic buried in my brain that I hope to find the time to write at some point. Until then, I thought I'd share these.
Constant Craving
Title: Constant Craving
Rating: Adult / NC-17
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the ladies and playing with them for a little while. No infringement intended.
Authors Note: This was a whole bunch of firsts for me. My first Sara/Sofia fic, my first slash fic of any kind and my first attempt at smut.
You were the habit I tried so hard to break.
~~~
Intensity
Title: Intensity
Author: forensicsgirl
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is pretty different from my normal writing style - or at least the normal writing style that I would normally share. It's very stream-of-consciousness in style. It's also extremely angsty, so consider yourselves warned.
No characters are named, but it is written from Sofia's POV, and her observations/feelings regarding Sara.
Intensity
~~~
Blue Velvet
Title: Blue Velvet.
Author: forensicsgirl
Rating: Adult/M
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Note: Written for the Geekfiction Smut-a-thon 2007. Not to be confused with the David Lynch classic.
Sara has been finding herself preoccupied lately. Luckily, Sofia’s on hands to take her mind off things.
Thanks to theatresporter for being the beta for this piece ;)
The small velvet box sits in your desk drawer where you think I can’t see it.
I wasn’t snooping, let’s make that clear from the start. You asked me to grab your address book out of your desk - you just didn’t tell me where I should look. I didn’t go looking for anything out of the ordinary or hidden. And, though I ran my fingers across the soft, midnight blue velvet, I didn’t open it or peek inside.
That was two days ago. And I’ve thought of little else since.
We are not known for our romantic gestures, you and I. Nor are we known for our adherence to either convention or custom. We both worked through Christmas, choosing instead to spend the following day together, opening sweet, practical gifts and eating a not so traditional vegetable stir-fry.
There were no packages containing frilly underwear - which I would never wear in a million years - something which, during the few relationships I’ve had with men, seemed to be at the top of their shopping list when it came to gifts. You bought me books you knew I would love, a year’s subscription to a journal you knew I wanted, and other thoughtful, but sensible, gifts.
But now a velvet box sits, infiltrating your desk and my consciousness.
Curiosity has always been one of my weaknesses. It’s one of the traits that makes me a good CSI. But it’s a pain in the ass sometimes. Like right now. When I want nothing more than to go back to your desk and open that damn box.
It’s not for me, I tell myself. You couldn’t have bought me jewelry. It’s just so… unlikely. Unlike Us. Sure, we both like to wear necklaces - little inexpensive pieces we won’t mind losing or damaging on the job. Impulse buys when we’re out shopping. But this…
That is a serious box. For serious jewelry.
My mind goes into overdrive. If it isn’t for me, then who is it for? Your Mom’s birthday isn’t for several months. I can’t think of any other woman you’d be buying for unless…
Unless…
I dismiss the thought out of hand. Of course it’s not for another woman. I would know.
Wouldn’t I?
And now I’m mad at you. You’re having an affair and I’m the last to know, and it’ll be all over the department soon how Sofia’s finally found true love with some fabulous woman who everyone adores, and I’ll be standing in the background looking on as you walk off into the sunset with her, and…
“What’s wrong?”
I must have been glaring across the room at you, because you catch my eye and look - I don’t know - surprised? Confused, maybe?
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“You look pissed. Have I done something to upset you?”
“I don’t know. Have you?”
You arch an eyebrow and laugh a little. You get up and head towards the kitchen for another beer, pausing to kiss me on the top of the head along the way.
When you return, you have a beer for me too.
“Thanks.”
“Hey.”
Your voice demands that I look at you, so I do. Our eyes meet and I see such passion and love for me there that I know I’m being silly. You’re not interested in anyone else. Of course you’re not.
You softly brush your lips across mine, and you taste of beer and the pizza we had for dinner an hour ago. My tongue flicks out across your lips, savoring the flavor.
You go back to your chair and I go back to watching TV, letting the whole silly thing go. Until I remember something - If the box isn’t for your Mom, and it isn’t for another woman, then that brings me back to square one.
Lurking in that velvet box is a gift for me.
Another realization hits me. It’s the 13th of February. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s has never meant that much to me. I’ve always been of the opinion that the day is nothing more than a way for Hallmark to squeeze another few bucks out of us, in between Christmas and Easter. I’ve never so much as given anyone a Valentine card - unless you count kindergarten, when we all had to make cards for the rest of the class out of craft paper and dangerous quantities of glue.
I sneak a look at you across the room. Your long, blonde hair is pulled back off your face, revealing the long elegant neck I’ve spent so much time and attention on. You’re curled up in your favorite easy chair, an old but comfortable sweater wrapped around you, reading a departmental manual.
I frown, trying to gauge whether or not you’re a closet romantic. You give no outward sign of it. My findings remain inconclusive.
My attention returns to your desk, my thoughts back to what lies hidden inside.
“What are you looking at?”
You sound… amused?
“Nothing. Just… thinking.”
But I can’t help myself. Every few minutes, my eyes drift back towards your desk. You’d have to be blind not to notice. And you do. I see your sly grin get wider with every passing moment. You know exactly what I’m looking at. And why. And it’s amusing you no end.
Eventually I sigh and slump back in my chair, my frustration growing. I want to ask you about the box, finally get all this out in the open so I can stop being so fucking preoccupied with something which is probably insignificant. But I can’t. I won’t bring it up unless you do.
I feel your gaze on my face and turn to look at you. The amusement is still there, the knowing grin, but something else too. Hunger. Passion. Lust.
A girl could come just from being on the receiving end of a look like that.
Smirking, you stalk across the room towards me, to the chair where I’ve been pretending to watch some documentary I can’t recall the name of. You drape yourself across my lap, purring as you wrap your arms around my neck.
“Distracted?” you ask.
“I am now,” I tell the pulse point in your neck, sucking on it lightly; just the way you love it.
And still my eyes are drawn to that drawer. I begin to daydream about what you’ve bought me. I try to remember if we’d seen any jewelry when we’ve been shopping together. I can’t think of anything.
Your tongue is working some kind of magic on my earlobe and it snaps me back to the present. I run my fingers up your spine in appreciation, lingering at the nape of your neck, running my fingernails across the tender flesh I find there. Your lips move lower, ravishing my neck with an expertise that no other possesses.
The other present - the one waiting for me in your desk drawer - is temporarily forgotten.
My breath hitches as your finger tips brush across my breasts, your touch light, too damn light for my liking. I want you - all of you - right now, damn it. But you keep me waiting, feather light touches; slow and languid; never rushing. I try to grab you closer, try to tempt you into moving things along, but you pin my hands behind me and kiss me deeply, stealing my breath away once more.
“Let’s move this into the bedroom,” I suggest when you let me come up for a moment’s air.
“We have a perfectly good floor right here,” you reply with a smirk, before we sink down onto it, our bodies undulating together in their own secret rhythm. This kind of love-making had been foreign to me at one time, but with you I found I could speak it fluently. We rise and fall, twist and writhe, leisurely wending our way towards release.
You whisper to me as you love me - your words both sweet and filthy - words you would never in a million years let your fellow police officers hear slip from your tongue. In contrast, I say nothing, my breathing and gentle moans speak my pleasure for me - and they speak volumes.
“Oh god, baby, right there,” you instruct, as though instruction were needed. Your head snaps back as your body arches and I take advantage of the situation and reclaim your neck. “Fuck… yeah… gah…”
If I could form coherent thought right now, I would be impressed at my ability to concentrate enough to pleasure you, when it’s all I can do not to lie back and enjoy what you’re doing to me. But I am nothing if not determined, so I focus on making you gasp again and again, while my own body screams out from our impending ecstasy.
The soft light from the lamps we bought together - our first purchase for our home - makes the fine layer of sweat on our bodies glisten as we writhe in it. The slow build has been overtaken by frantic fucking, our flesh molding together as our fingers delve deeper and deeper, bringing us both closer and closer to the edge. Then the floodgates open and I’m calling your name as we climax together.
Later, we lie side by side, exhausted and ecstatic. As my breathing slowly returns to normal, I curl into your side, utterly contented.
“Well, I guess that took your mind off what’s in my desk, didn’t it?”
It all comes rushing back. The box. Fuck. I’d forgotten.
“Damn it! What’s in the box, Sofia. I’m going nuts here.”
“You already are nuts, Sidle,” you chide, laughing and kissing me at the same time. “And you can wait ‘til tomorrow to find out.”
“No. I really can’t. The curiosity is killing me.”
Your tongue flicks out and licks my neck.
“I’m just going to have to keep distracting you then, aren’t I?”
Our dance begins once more. We grind together, slick heat against slick heat, fucking until dawn. As promised, the box slips from my memory as the passion of our lovemaking carries us through to Valentine’s Day.
I've written three Sara/Sofia fics up to this point, and I have another, longer fic buried in my brain that I hope to find the time to write at some point. Until then, I thought I'd share these.
Constant Craving
Title: Constant Craving
Rating: Adult / NC-17
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the ladies and playing with them for a little while. No infringement intended.
Authors Note: This was a whole bunch of firsts for me. My first Sara/Sofia fic, my first slash fic of any kind and my first attempt at smut.
You were the habit I tried so hard to break.
~~~
Intensity
Title: Intensity
Author: forensicsgirl
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is pretty different from my normal writing style - or at least the normal writing style that I would normally share. It's very stream-of-consciousness in style. It's also extremely angsty, so consider yourselves warned.
No characters are named, but it is written from Sofia's POV, and her observations/feelings regarding Sara.
Intensity
~~~
Blue Velvet
Title: Blue Velvet.
Author: forensicsgirl
Rating: Adult/M
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Note: Written for the Geekfiction Smut-a-thon 2007. Not to be confused with the David Lynch classic.
Sara has been finding herself preoccupied lately. Luckily, Sofia’s on hands to take her mind off things.
Thanks to theatresporter for being the beta for this piece ;)
The small velvet box sits in your desk drawer where you think I can’t see it.
I wasn’t snooping, let’s make that clear from the start. You asked me to grab your address book out of your desk - you just didn’t tell me where I should look. I didn’t go looking for anything out of the ordinary or hidden. And, though I ran my fingers across the soft, midnight blue velvet, I didn’t open it or peek inside.
That was two days ago. And I’ve thought of little else since.
We are not known for our romantic gestures, you and I. Nor are we known for our adherence to either convention or custom. We both worked through Christmas, choosing instead to spend the following day together, opening sweet, practical gifts and eating a not so traditional vegetable stir-fry.
There were no packages containing frilly underwear - which I would never wear in a million years - something which, during the few relationships I’ve had with men, seemed to be at the top of their shopping list when it came to gifts. You bought me books you knew I would love, a year’s subscription to a journal you knew I wanted, and other thoughtful, but sensible, gifts.
But now a velvet box sits, infiltrating your desk and my consciousness.
Curiosity has always been one of my weaknesses. It’s one of the traits that makes me a good CSI. But it’s a pain in the ass sometimes. Like right now. When I want nothing more than to go back to your desk and open that damn box.
It’s not for me, I tell myself. You couldn’t have bought me jewelry. It’s just so… unlikely. Unlike Us. Sure, we both like to wear necklaces - little inexpensive pieces we won’t mind losing or damaging on the job. Impulse buys when we’re out shopping. But this…
That is a serious box. For serious jewelry.
My mind goes into overdrive. If it isn’t for me, then who is it for? Your Mom’s birthday isn’t for several months. I can’t think of any other woman you’d be buying for unless…
Unless…
I dismiss the thought out of hand. Of course it’s not for another woman. I would know.
Wouldn’t I?
And now I’m mad at you. You’re having an affair and I’m the last to know, and it’ll be all over the department soon how Sofia’s finally found true love with some fabulous woman who everyone adores, and I’ll be standing in the background looking on as you walk off into the sunset with her, and…
“What’s wrong?”
I must have been glaring across the room at you, because you catch my eye and look - I don’t know - surprised? Confused, maybe?
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“You look pissed. Have I done something to upset you?”
“I don’t know. Have you?”
You arch an eyebrow and laugh a little. You get up and head towards the kitchen for another beer, pausing to kiss me on the top of the head along the way.
When you return, you have a beer for me too.
“Thanks.”
“Hey.”
Your voice demands that I look at you, so I do. Our eyes meet and I see such passion and love for me there that I know I’m being silly. You’re not interested in anyone else. Of course you’re not.
You softly brush your lips across mine, and you taste of beer and the pizza we had for dinner an hour ago. My tongue flicks out across your lips, savoring the flavor.
You go back to your chair and I go back to watching TV, letting the whole silly thing go. Until I remember something - If the box isn’t for your Mom, and it isn’t for another woman, then that brings me back to square one.
Lurking in that velvet box is a gift for me.
Another realization hits me. It’s the 13th of February. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s has never meant that much to me. I’ve always been of the opinion that the day is nothing more than a way for Hallmark to squeeze another few bucks out of us, in between Christmas and Easter. I’ve never so much as given anyone a Valentine card - unless you count kindergarten, when we all had to make cards for the rest of the class out of craft paper and dangerous quantities of glue.
I sneak a look at you across the room. Your long, blonde hair is pulled back off your face, revealing the long elegant neck I’ve spent so much time and attention on. You’re curled up in your favorite easy chair, an old but comfortable sweater wrapped around you, reading a departmental manual.
I frown, trying to gauge whether or not you’re a closet romantic. You give no outward sign of it. My findings remain inconclusive.
My attention returns to your desk, my thoughts back to what lies hidden inside.
“What are you looking at?”
You sound… amused?
“Nothing. Just… thinking.”
But I can’t help myself. Every few minutes, my eyes drift back towards your desk. You’d have to be blind not to notice. And you do. I see your sly grin get wider with every passing moment. You know exactly what I’m looking at. And why. And it’s amusing you no end.
Eventually I sigh and slump back in my chair, my frustration growing. I want to ask you about the box, finally get all this out in the open so I can stop being so fucking preoccupied with something which is probably insignificant. But I can’t. I won’t bring it up unless you do.
I feel your gaze on my face and turn to look at you. The amusement is still there, the knowing grin, but something else too. Hunger. Passion. Lust.
A girl could come just from being on the receiving end of a look like that.
Smirking, you stalk across the room towards me, to the chair where I’ve been pretending to watch some documentary I can’t recall the name of. You drape yourself across my lap, purring as you wrap your arms around my neck.
“Distracted?” you ask.
“I am now,” I tell the pulse point in your neck, sucking on it lightly; just the way you love it.
And still my eyes are drawn to that drawer. I begin to daydream about what you’ve bought me. I try to remember if we’d seen any jewelry when we’ve been shopping together. I can’t think of anything.
Your tongue is working some kind of magic on my earlobe and it snaps me back to the present. I run my fingers up your spine in appreciation, lingering at the nape of your neck, running my fingernails across the tender flesh I find there. Your lips move lower, ravishing my neck with an expertise that no other possesses.
The other present - the one waiting for me in your desk drawer - is temporarily forgotten.
My breath hitches as your finger tips brush across my breasts, your touch light, too damn light for my liking. I want you - all of you - right now, damn it. But you keep me waiting, feather light touches; slow and languid; never rushing. I try to grab you closer, try to tempt you into moving things along, but you pin my hands behind me and kiss me deeply, stealing my breath away once more.
“Let’s move this into the bedroom,” I suggest when you let me come up for a moment’s air.
“We have a perfectly good floor right here,” you reply with a smirk, before we sink down onto it, our bodies undulating together in their own secret rhythm. This kind of love-making had been foreign to me at one time, but with you I found I could speak it fluently. We rise and fall, twist and writhe, leisurely wending our way towards release.
You whisper to me as you love me - your words both sweet and filthy - words you would never in a million years let your fellow police officers hear slip from your tongue. In contrast, I say nothing, my breathing and gentle moans speak my pleasure for me - and they speak volumes.
“Oh god, baby, right there,” you instruct, as though instruction were needed. Your head snaps back as your body arches and I take advantage of the situation and reclaim your neck. “Fuck… yeah… gah…”
If I could form coherent thought right now, I would be impressed at my ability to concentrate enough to pleasure you, when it’s all I can do not to lie back and enjoy what you’re doing to me. But I am nothing if not determined, so I focus on making you gasp again and again, while my own body screams out from our impending ecstasy.
The soft light from the lamps we bought together - our first purchase for our home - makes the fine layer of sweat on our bodies glisten as we writhe in it. The slow build has been overtaken by frantic fucking, our flesh molding together as our fingers delve deeper and deeper, bringing us both closer and closer to the edge. Then the floodgates open and I’m calling your name as we climax together.
Later, we lie side by side, exhausted and ecstatic. As my breathing slowly returns to normal, I curl into your side, utterly contented.
“Well, I guess that took your mind off what’s in my desk, didn’t it?”
It all comes rushing back. The box. Fuck. I’d forgotten.
“Damn it! What’s in the box, Sofia. I’m going nuts here.”
“You already are nuts, Sidle,” you chide, laughing and kissing me at the same time. “And you can wait ‘til tomorrow to find out.”
“No. I really can’t. The curiosity is killing me.”
Your tongue flicks out and licks my neck.
“I’m just going to have to keep distracting you then, aren’t I?”
Our dance begins once more. We grind together, slick heat against slick heat, fucking until dawn. As promised, the box slips from my memory as the passion of our lovemaking carries us through to Valentine’s Day.