"From The Jaws", Angel/The West Wing
Title: From The Jaws
Fandom: Angel/The West Wing
Characters: Lilah Morgan/Sam Seaborn
Words: 278
Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to Joss and Sorkin.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for Season 4 of The West Wing ("Red Haven's On Fire") and Season 4 of Angel ("Habeas Corpses"). Rated R. (Revised Dec 3, 2006.)
It's dark outside when he hikes up her skirt and pushes a knee between her thighs. He tells her, "Joshua, my name's Joshua, I'll make the walls tumble down," but she knows this to be a lie. Lilah cares next to nothing about American politics except how it affects the firm and her clients, but she knows enough to recognise Bartlet's blue-eyed boy, the commie pinko liberal from the California 47th. She sneers to herself, teeth against his jugular, because Lilah has no patience for leftist idealism or lost causes or anything resembling defeat. And if there's to be a sacrificial lamb, she will be the one to wield the knife.
He fucks her slow and deep, then fast and hard. He's racing her to the finish line, but Lilah doesn't know how to lose and she beats him to it. She groans the wrong name as she climaxes, head thrown back, thighs slick around sharp-boned hips, womb aching. His last, harsh grunt is a victory cry, and Lilah smiles her satisfaction. She lets him rest against her for a minute, a reward for his outstanding performance, before she pulls away to straighten her skirt. He fixes his fly, tucks his shirt in, then leans close as though to kiss her.
But his teeth graze the thin skin at her jugular instead, and Lilah shudders helplessly in his embrace. Her neck has always been incredibly sensitive. It's dark, and she's late, and she really should keep moving. It's dark outside, but his eyes are blue, so blue. His teeth are knives against her neck.
"Who's Wesley?" he asks as she hikes up her skirt and lays herself open.
There, that's five new fics written in 2005. (Okay, technically it's 12:52 am where I live, but it's still 9:52 pm in Vancouver!)
Fandom: Angel/The West Wing
Characters: Lilah Morgan/Sam Seaborn
Words: 278
Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to Joss and Sorkin.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for Season 4 of The West Wing ("Red Haven's On Fire") and Season 4 of Angel ("Habeas Corpses"). Rated R. (Revised Dec 3, 2006.)
It's dark outside when he hikes up her skirt and pushes a knee between her thighs. He tells her, "Joshua, my name's Joshua, I'll make the walls tumble down," but she knows this to be a lie. Lilah cares next to nothing about American politics except how it affects the firm and her clients, but she knows enough to recognise Bartlet's blue-eyed boy, the commie pinko liberal from the California 47th. She sneers to herself, teeth against his jugular, because Lilah has no patience for leftist idealism or lost causes or anything resembling defeat. And if there's to be a sacrificial lamb, she will be the one to wield the knife.
He fucks her slow and deep, then fast and hard. He's racing her to the finish line, but Lilah doesn't know how to lose and she beats him to it. She groans the wrong name as she climaxes, head thrown back, thighs slick around sharp-boned hips, womb aching. His last, harsh grunt is a victory cry, and Lilah smiles her satisfaction. She lets him rest against her for a minute, a reward for his outstanding performance, before she pulls away to straighten her skirt. He fixes his fly, tucks his shirt in, then leans close as though to kiss her.
But his teeth graze the thin skin at her jugular instead, and Lilah shudders helplessly in his embrace. Her neck has always been incredibly sensitive. It's dark, and she's late, and she really should keep moving. It's dark outside, but his eyes are blue, so blue. His teeth are knives against her neck.
"Who's Wesley?" he asks as she hikes up her skirt and lays herself open.
There, that's five new fics written in 2005. (Okay, technically it's 12:52 am where I live, but it's still 9:52 pm in Vancouver!)