White Collar Fic: Morning Light (Diana/Christie)
Morning Light
A White Collar fic by SecondSilk
Owned by Jeff Eastin et al
Diana/Christie
Explicit sexual content, gunplay, established relationship, no standard content notes.
1117 words.
Many thanks to
karaokegal for betaing.
(On AO3)
Christie's due home at six twenty, so Diana's ready at about twelve minutes past the hour. She has showered, dressed, cleaned her gun, changed her clothes, checked twice that the gun is empty and straightened the sheets on the bed. She settles on the couch, ankle on one knee, rubbing the fingers of her left hand along the stitching on her shoe. The heels feel kind of ridiculous, but they make her taller than Christie. She thinks she's going to need the psychological boost.
By the time Christie makes it home at six fifty, Diana's nerves have faded into restless boredom. She's able to keep her voice completely blank as she says,
"What time do you call this?"
Christie smiles, amused by their play at those sorts of arguments. She opens her mouth to make some kind of retort. Diana can tell the exact moment Christie sees the gun. Diana's not holding it--she's just got her hand on it resting on her thigh--but she'd never have it out except for this. Christie goes totally still for a beat, then lets out at heavy breath. Diana smiles slowly and relax slightly now that it seems like it's going to work.
"You're not in charge of me," Christie says. She's trying to sound belligerent, but it comes out childish. Diana doesn’t make anything of it; Christie hasn’t taken her eyes off the gun.
"I think I should be," Diana says.
She picks up her gun. She doesn't take the safety off, but she puts her finger on the trigger and aims at Christie. She almost can't hold her arm steady, despite and because of her training to kill with this weapon. The effect on Christie is something to behold: her pupils dilate, her breath catches, and she relaxes, like she's hanging from her shoulders, like she’s ceded control.
Diana stands.
With her gun in her hand, she’s aware of their surroundings: the light from the street lamp outside the kitchen window, the hum of the water heater, the odd shadow of a discarded coat. She can feel how Christie's holding her weight, can feel the tension and anticipation in her own muscles.
"Strip," she orders.
Christie complies. She’s just in the street clothes she wears home from work, so she doesn't make a big show of it. There's no play or seduction in how she lets her hoodie fall of her shoulders, how she pushes down her jeans, but her movements are deliberate. Diana can't look away from the slow reveal of Christie's skin in the dawning light. Christie's still watching the gun, but she isn't resisting and she isn't fearful.
When Diana had thought about this, she'd though about giving specific commands and watching Christie get herself off. She'd thought about how fantastic it would be to do something that Christie wanted, to see her girlfriend this happy and excited, to chase away the demons she brought home from work. Diana had imagined the scene as something to appreciate from a distance.
Now she's standing in her killer heels in her living room, with a gun pointed at her girlfriend, and Christie's not the least bit scared of what's going to happen next. It's one of the hottest things Diana's ever done. She shifts her stance to get better balance and forces her breathing steady. She’s tempted to drop the gun and throw herself on Christie, but she knows that Christie wants more than that.
"Here," she says, gesturing with the gun. "Kneel."
Diana had planned on things to say. Now she thinks she’s doing well to have a voice at all.
Christie slides to her knees at Diana's feet and looks up at her, waiting. She's relaxed, compliant, but still focused intently on the gun. Diana raises the gun and lets the muzzle rest on the hollow of Christie's throat. Christie draws in a deep breath. When Diana slides the gun along her collarbone, Christie whimpers. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and Diana can see she's clenched her thighs together.
Diana tucks the gun over Christie's shoulder so she can force her head up and draw her forward. Christie makes a keening sound.
"You know what I like," Diana says.
Christie's fingers are eager on the buttons of Diana's pants. She pushes Diana's panties down and grabs her hips as she leans in to get her tongue on Diana. It's Diana's turn to shiver. She's sure she'd fall off her high heels if she didn't have Christie holding her.
Diana takes her finger off the trigger. She adjusts her grip so she has more control, so she can trail the sharp edge of the barrel down Christie's neck.
Christie arches into the sensation. She twists herself closer to Diana and gets her mouth back on Diana's cunt. Her tongue works Diana's clit hard until Diana's shaking. Christie slides one hand up Diana's thigh and presses her thumb against just the right spot that undoes all of Diana’s careful control and makes her come.
Diana groans and shudders through the waves of pleasure. She steadies herself for a moment with her hand on Christie's shoulder before tugging at Christie, drawing her to stand. Christie holds onto Diana tightly, her naked skin warm, even through Diana's clothes.
Diana presses the muzzle of the gun against Christie's spine. Christie writhes against her. Carefully, Diana adjusts her grip on the gun to take it by the barrel and slide it over Christie's shoulder and between her breasts. Christie wraps her arms around Diana's neck to hold on. Diana works the gun between them so she can press the warmed butt against Christie's clit.
Christie moans brokenly. Diana grins. She has to brace herself to hold the gun so that a Christie can work herself against it, but she is rewarded with the most glorious sounds of Christie's pleasure. Christie comes with a shout and collapses against Diana.
"Fuck." It's closer to breath than speech. "Diana, my god. Fuck."
Diana kisses her, slow and deep, until Christie's humming into her mouth and rubbing herself against Diana's thigh.
"Come on, let’s go to bed."
Christie draws back to say, "Don't you have to go to work?"
"Not today." Diana has the day off and plans she explains to Christie as she maneuvers them to the bedroom. Christie doesn't let go of her, even as Diana strips out of her clothes and then puts her gun back in the safe.
They crawl into bed together. Christie curls with her cheek against Diana’s shoulder. Diana strokes Christie’s hip with a hand that still feels the phantom weight of the gun. She falls asleep thinking of the things she can say next time.
Please come to the dreamwidth post of this entry! There are
comments
A White Collar fic by SecondSilk
Owned by Jeff Eastin et al
Diana/Christie
Explicit sexual content, gunplay, established relationship, no standard content notes.
1117 words.
Many thanks to
karaokegal for betaing.
(On AO3)
Christie's due home at six twenty, so Diana's ready at about twelve minutes past the hour. She has showered, dressed, cleaned her gun, changed her clothes, checked twice that the gun is empty and straightened the sheets on the bed. She settles on the couch, ankle on one knee, rubbing the fingers of her left hand along the stitching on her shoe. The heels feel kind of ridiculous, but they make her taller than Christie. She thinks she's going to need the psychological boost.
By the time Christie makes it home at six fifty, Diana's nerves have faded into restless boredom. She's able to keep her voice completely blank as she says,
"What time do you call this?"
Christie smiles, amused by their play at those sorts of arguments. She opens her mouth to make some kind of retort. Diana can tell the exact moment Christie sees the gun. Diana's not holding it--she's just got her hand on it resting on her thigh--but she'd never have it out except for this. Christie goes totally still for a beat, then lets out at heavy breath. Diana smiles slowly and relax slightly now that it seems like it's going to work.
"You're not in charge of me," Christie says. She's trying to sound belligerent, but it comes out childish. Diana doesn’t make anything of it; Christie hasn’t taken her eyes off the gun.
"I think I should be," Diana says.
She picks up her gun. She doesn't take the safety off, but she puts her finger on the trigger and aims at Christie. She almost can't hold her arm steady, despite and because of her training to kill with this weapon. The effect on Christie is something to behold: her pupils dilate, her breath catches, and she relaxes, like she's hanging from her shoulders, like she’s ceded control.
Diana stands.
With her gun in her hand, she’s aware of their surroundings: the light from the street lamp outside the kitchen window, the hum of the water heater, the odd shadow of a discarded coat. She can feel how Christie's holding her weight, can feel the tension and anticipation in her own muscles.
"Strip," she orders.
Christie complies. She’s just in the street clothes she wears home from work, so she doesn't make a big show of it. There's no play or seduction in how she lets her hoodie fall of her shoulders, how she pushes down her jeans, but her movements are deliberate. Diana can't look away from the slow reveal of Christie's skin in the dawning light. Christie's still watching the gun, but she isn't resisting and she isn't fearful.
When Diana had thought about this, she'd though about giving specific commands and watching Christie get herself off. She'd thought about how fantastic it would be to do something that Christie wanted, to see her girlfriend this happy and excited, to chase away the demons she brought home from work. Diana had imagined the scene as something to appreciate from a distance.
Now she's standing in her killer heels in her living room, with a gun pointed at her girlfriend, and Christie's not the least bit scared of what's going to happen next. It's one of the hottest things Diana's ever done. She shifts her stance to get better balance and forces her breathing steady. She’s tempted to drop the gun and throw herself on Christie, but she knows that Christie wants more than that.
"Here," she says, gesturing with the gun. "Kneel."
Diana had planned on things to say. Now she thinks she’s doing well to have a voice at all.
Christie slides to her knees at Diana's feet and looks up at her, waiting. She's relaxed, compliant, but still focused intently on the gun. Diana raises the gun and lets the muzzle rest on the hollow of Christie's throat. Christie draws in a deep breath. When Diana slides the gun along her collarbone, Christie whimpers. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and Diana can see she's clenched her thighs together.
Diana tucks the gun over Christie's shoulder so she can force her head up and draw her forward. Christie makes a keening sound.
"You know what I like," Diana says.
Christie's fingers are eager on the buttons of Diana's pants. She pushes Diana's panties down and grabs her hips as she leans in to get her tongue on Diana. It's Diana's turn to shiver. She's sure she'd fall off her high heels if she didn't have Christie holding her.
Diana takes her finger off the trigger. She adjusts her grip so she has more control, so she can trail the sharp edge of the barrel down Christie's neck.
Christie arches into the sensation. She twists herself closer to Diana and gets her mouth back on Diana's cunt. Her tongue works Diana's clit hard until Diana's shaking. Christie slides one hand up Diana's thigh and presses her thumb against just the right spot that undoes all of Diana’s careful control and makes her come.
Diana groans and shudders through the waves of pleasure. She steadies herself for a moment with her hand on Christie's shoulder before tugging at Christie, drawing her to stand. Christie holds onto Diana tightly, her naked skin warm, even through Diana's clothes.
Diana presses the muzzle of the gun against Christie's spine. Christie writhes against her. Carefully, Diana adjusts her grip on the gun to take it by the barrel and slide it over Christie's shoulder and between her breasts. Christie wraps her arms around Diana's neck to hold on. Diana works the gun between them so she can press the warmed butt against Christie's clit.
Christie moans brokenly. Diana grins. She has to brace herself to hold the gun so that a Christie can work herself against it, but she is rewarded with the most glorious sounds of Christie's pleasure. Christie comes with a shout and collapses against Diana.
"Fuck." It's closer to breath than speech. "Diana, my god. Fuck."
Diana kisses her, slow and deep, until Christie's humming into her mouth and rubbing herself against Diana's thigh.
"Come on, let’s go to bed."
Christie draws back to say, "Don't you have to go to work?"
"Not today." Diana has the day off and plans she explains to Christie as she maneuvers them to the bedroom. Christie doesn't let go of her, even as Diana strips out of her clothes and then puts her gun back in the safe.
They crawl into bed together. Christie curls with her cheek against Diana’s shoulder. Diana strokes Christie’s hip with a hand that still feels the phantom weight of the gun. She falls asleep thinking of the things she can say next time.
Please come to the dreamwidth post of this entry! There are
comments