Fic: Lost in Illusions
Pairing: Miranda/OC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Not accepting the truth is done best by escaping into an illusion.
Dislaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not beta'd
LOST IN ILLUSIONS
The bed is hard, uncomfortable. The mattress irregular, the sheets scratchy. There’s an icy wind blowing in the room. Every one of those things is enough to leave and don’t do this, not here, not now, not again, not with her. This has become too much like an addiction.
“Why do we have to do this here?” she tries to ask, but is silenced by full lips covering her own, taking away her voice, her breath, her will to fight something she craves. Instead she just gives in to her desires and needs.
Her skirt and blouse are removed. Her breasts attacked through her bra with a wicked tongue and sharp teeth. Warm hands tease through lace, leaving her skin burning wherever they touch. This is heavenly, but hell at the same time. Nothing so incredible can be good. It isn’t. They’re both cheating on a loved one.
Pearly teeth sink into the pristine white skin of her thigh. It stings. She loves it and moans. For a moment she doesn’t care about the mark, just about those lips sucking around the small indentations, bruising the pale skin. She doesn’t care what will happen when it is discovered. If it will be discovered. Sex isn’t something she can find at home anymore. That is why she is here. One of the reasons.
One other is how unbelievable it is. She hasn’t had anyone like her since, well since the last time she had a woman. But even she wasn’t like this, not so able to meet everything she wants. She knows she’s wet, soaking through the thin wisp of fabric that covers her. It’s almost embarrassing.
Without warning three fingers slide into her, stretching her, giving her a burning sensation. She revels in it, it’s what she needs. The drug she would never admit to wanting. It is said it is good to live dangerously, but not like this. The secret meetings, the motels, hotels, the town car. Too much evidence just lying around for anyone who’d think to look for it.
It used to be just an affair, just sex and no strings attached. A few times in luxury hotels on a soft bed with silk sheets, completely unlike this room, this hole. But now when she doesn’t see her on time, it’s worse than when she gave up cigarettes.
But the way her body feels when they do meet is so much better than any drug she has ever had. The slim fingers, the devilish tongue, everything that makes her moan, whimper, scream or bite down on her hand to muffle the sounds that can be heard outside the bedroom.
She arches off the bed, so far that it hurts her back. The sheets are clenched in her fists, her mouth open in a silent scream as muscles start to contract. It’s almost so good that it hurts. Maybe it does hurt, but she just can’t find the strength to admit it to herself.
She has to put an end to this. After each time she thinks the same and never has the willpower to do it. Always she ends up naked and sweaty in her arms, almost regretting that she gave in again to this girl, doe-eyed, lovely, sweet, but a little unreliable too.
Absolutely exhausted she tries to catch her breath. She has to regain her energy. They both have to leave soon, back to their own lives, back to the real life. This is all just a fantasy. A fantasy for both of them, seeking something that they can never have, no matter how much they crave it.
They both know that it is not each other that they need. That they are just a replacement, a stand-in, for somebody that is there, but out of reach. She doesn’t know who she is supposed to be for the girl, but she knows who the girl is for her and yet she cannot admit it.
Every day of her life she spends creating, perfecting illusions, and now she is lost in one herself. She’s lost and cannot find a way out. It is almost as if she afraid to accept the reality, afraid that the image will seep from her mind and there will be nothing left but emptiness. The realization that she does not have her.
When the leave the dingy motel room, they separate, pretending that nothing happened, that they are strangers to each other. She makes sure that they don’t see each other outside of these meetings out of fear that she won’t be able to control herself. As the cool October wind blows through her silver hair, her louboutins click on the pavement, as she slowly becomes the image again she is supposed to be she wishes she isn’t hoping for the next time
.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Not accepting the truth is done best by escaping into an illusion.
Dislaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not beta'd
LOST IN ILLUSIONS
The bed is hard, uncomfortable. The mattress irregular, the sheets scratchy. There’s an icy wind blowing in the room. Every one of those things is enough to leave and don’t do this, not here, not now, not again, not with her. This has become too much like an addiction.
“Why do we have to do this here?” she tries to ask, but is silenced by full lips covering her own, taking away her voice, her breath, her will to fight something she craves. Instead she just gives in to her desires and needs.
Her skirt and blouse are removed. Her breasts attacked through her bra with a wicked tongue and sharp teeth. Warm hands tease through lace, leaving her skin burning wherever they touch. This is heavenly, but hell at the same time. Nothing so incredible can be good. It isn’t. They’re both cheating on a loved one.
Pearly teeth sink into the pristine white skin of her thigh. It stings. She loves it and moans. For a moment she doesn’t care about the mark, just about those lips sucking around the small indentations, bruising the pale skin. She doesn’t care what will happen when it is discovered. If it will be discovered. Sex isn’t something she can find at home anymore. That is why she is here. One of the reasons.
One other is how unbelievable it is. She hasn’t had anyone like her since, well since the last time she had a woman. But even she wasn’t like this, not so able to meet everything she wants. She knows she’s wet, soaking through the thin wisp of fabric that covers her. It’s almost embarrassing.
Without warning three fingers slide into her, stretching her, giving her a burning sensation. She revels in it, it’s what she needs. The drug she would never admit to wanting. It is said it is good to live dangerously, but not like this. The secret meetings, the motels, hotels, the town car. Too much evidence just lying around for anyone who’d think to look for it.
It used to be just an affair, just sex and no strings attached. A few times in luxury hotels on a soft bed with silk sheets, completely unlike this room, this hole. But now when she doesn’t see her on time, it’s worse than when she gave up cigarettes.
But the way her body feels when they do meet is so much better than any drug she has ever had. The slim fingers, the devilish tongue, everything that makes her moan, whimper, scream or bite down on her hand to muffle the sounds that can be heard outside the bedroom.
She arches off the bed, so far that it hurts her back. The sheets are clenched in her fists, her mouth open in a silent scream as muscles start to contract. It’s almost so good that it hurts. Maybe it does hurt, but she just can’t find the strength to admit it to herself.
She has to put an end to this. After each time she thinks the same and never has the willpower to do it. Always she ends up naked and sweaty in her arms, almost regretting that she gave in again to this girl, doe-eyed, lovely, sweet, but a little unreliable too.
Absolutely exhausted she tries to catch her breath. She has to regain her energy. They both have to leave soon, back to their own lives, back to the real life. This is all just a fantasy. A fantasy for both of them, seeking something that they can never have, no matter how much they crave it.
They both know that it is not each other that they need. That they are just a replacement, a stand-in, for somebody that is there, but out of reach. She doesn’t know who she is supposed to be for the girl, but she knows who the girl is for her and yet she cannot admit it.
Every day of her life she spends creating, perfecting illusions, and now she is lost in one herself. She’s lost and cannot find a way out. It is almost as if she afraid to accept the reality, afraid that the image will seep from her mind and there will be nothing left but emptiness. The realization that she does not have her.
When the leave the dingy motel room, they separate, pretending that nothing happened, that they are strangers to each other. She makes sure that they don’t see each other outside of these meetings out of fear that she won’t be able to control herself. As the cool October wind blows through her silver hair, her louboutins click on the pavement, as she slowly becomes the image again she is supposed to be she wishes she isn’t hoping for the next time
.