Le Tourbillon de la Vie: Prologue
Clearly, I fail at anonymity.
Title: Le Tourbillon de la Vie*
Characters/Pairings: Noah/Sandra/Claude. Yeah...
Rating: Are threesomes automatically NC17? Because I really don't think it's beyond R but...
Warnings: It is a threesome so, you know. That. Sex, of the het and slash variety, but not terribly explicit, at least in my mind.
Spoilers: Maybe a bit for "The Golden Handshake" GN although really not.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.
Summary: A trip to Paris takes a turn for the...interesting. The even more interesting if I ever get around to writing the sequel don't encourage me but really, do.
A/N: So, how many references can I randomly squeeze into a fic? You will see. Fic expanded upon from prompt at YAHKM, originally posted here.
*Anyone more familiar with French can maybe answer this, do you actually capitalize all of that for a title? Or is like Spanish and it's only the first word? I never do know what to do with those things.
[Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]
[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Epilogue]
She’d never been to Europe before.
Heck, she’d never been out of the States.
Noah knew, of course, but maybe she was trying to keep it to herself a little, trying not to let it be so obvious.
Trying not to run her fingers over the fresh pages of her passport (never had one of those before, either). Trying not to grin like a little girl when the rush of the plane going down the runway pushed her back against the seat.
“Are you feeling okay?” Noah squeezed her hand in concern, and looked about to launch into an explanation of just how safe flying was.
She grinned more than a little bit like a little girl and nodded, then turned to look out the window as Texas fell away and Paris got just a little bit closer.
*
She couldn’t sleep on the plane.
Never had a problem with that kind of thing before, had been on planes before, but never that big of one, never one headed to Paris.
“All those lights keepin’ you up already, then?”
She leaned forward to look around Noah’s sleeping form and see Claude wink at her over his magazine. And then duck his head toward the seat next to him, which was inexplicably empty.
She stepped around Noah as carefully as she could and crossed the aisle.
“Where’s your friend?” she smiled, and tried to ignore the cloud of perfume she was now sitting in.
“Of findin’ somebody else to reject her advances, I’d imagine,” Claude gave her a sardonic smile (in other words, the same kind as usual) and shrugged.
“Want me to stick around until she comes back?”
“Want you to stick ‘round till the plane lands,” he murmured, grinning and cutting her off as she began to protest. “ ‘s fine, we’ll just tell her you’ve been here the whole time, give her somethin’ to talk to her therapist about.”
“Oh, honestly, Claude, she wasn’t that bad,” but she couldn’t help giggle. “Don’t know how Noah puts up with you.”
“Mystery for the ages, that.”
“Well, your people are good at solving mysteries.”
Claude looked at her and smirked.
“Can’t trust everythin’ you read from a bloke who believed in fairies, Sandra. Fact I’d say you can’t trust anythin’ from someone like that, but especially if it’s about an opium addict.”
“And Agatha Christie?”
“Woman disappears off the face of the earth for a week, she’s clearly got, as my friend would say, issues,” and he even went so far as to do his ‘American’ accent, which he probably knew was guaranteed to make her laughed.
She did, at least, and he smiled, maybe a bit softer than usual.
“You excited?” he said, not looking at her, and she couldn’t just nod.
“Quite a bit.”
Claude grinned at that, and glanced back up at her.
“Should get some sleep,” he nodded toward Noah, who had begun to snore softly. “He’s got the right idea, as always.”
Sandra giggled again.
“Well, for once, then,” Claude rolled his eyes, but kept smiling. “But it’s like Christmas mornin’, yeah? It’ll get here sooner.”
“You’re just tryin’ to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
“Never!” and he pitched it the way that always confused her, always made her wonder if he was being sarcastic or sincere.
Either way. She went back to her seat.
*
Claude was right.
There was too much to see, too much to do, too many things she’d only seen in movies and travel books to do her best not to stare at directly, too many women walking by with amazing shoes, too many handsome men in good clothes.
Too much light, too much life, too much city to spend a minute more in the hotel than she needed to, shaking off jet lag.
Too much fantastic food, too much wonderful wine.
Too much wine. Yes. That was true.
Much too much wine, except that…it was just the right amount to have Noah looking and acting about ten years younger, blushing and looking, brazen and awkward. Tucking back strands of her hair, whispering against her neck, letting a hand settle on her knee when her skirt slid up. Leaving her breathless, so maybe it was exactly the right amount, of wine.
Not enough to let himself be dragged onto a dance floor straight out of Charade, but more than enough for Claude to grab her hand, wink at Noah, and send her skirt swirling in the dim light.
And he wasn’t a great dancer, his own inherent rhythm too strong to follow anyone else’s, but he didn’t have to be.
The music was slow and rich, curling around them like the smoke that would’ve made her start coughing back in Odessa but here just made her feel warm and like she was moving through molasses.
Sweet and smooth, like the taste of wine still on her lips and slide of hands down her back.
And then a part of warmth was gone, only a hand against her waist, and Noah looking at her with eyes that she didn’t quite recognize and should’ve felt guilty about.
Shouldn’t have felt like she’d just drunk an entire bottle of wine, her skin flushing and her head spinning and her mouth smiling as her husband and his best friend stared at each other, close enough to-
And she was being spun around again, in a rush that should’ve made her feel nauseous but the only thing coming out of her mouth when Noah caught her against his chest was laughter.
That got lower, slower, as her arms went around his neck and his hands found their place on her hips.
And it took her a while to notice the second pair of hands, the warmth against her back. The shallow breaths against her neck as her own were stolen by Noah’s mouth on hers. The slide of a palm across her stomach, hesitant at first, bolder when she didn’t do anything but try and suck it in a little.
Low hum of laughter under her ear too much to let her think straight, twin lines of hardness pressed to her back and stomach not helping much, there, but she didn’t mind.
Didn’t mind so much that when the music tapered off and left the only sounds in her ears her own heart beat and the interwoven shallow breaths of the three of them, she was quick to nod when Claude suggested stealing them a cab.
*
Claude must’ve paid for the cab, she realized.
She hadn’t noticed, hadn’t noticed much after Noah pulled her off the cool leather seat and onto his lap, kissing her like he’d gotten the car for the weekend and they only had an hour before he had to get her home for curfew.
But she was noticing a lot now, as they fell into the bed she hadn’t even slept in yet, Claude’s hand pushing up her skirt, Noah’s mouth on her neck as he unbuttoned her shirt with familiar fingers as unfamiliar ones stroked up her thigh.
And then further up, light and maddeningly cautious, until she heard herself gasp and let herself rock back against him.
A finger slipped inside of her easily, and then another, the careful, slick stroke of a third against her sex, and she gripped at Noah’s arms as they wrapped around her waist and kept her steady.
She came with Noah’s lips just barely holding in her moans and Claude’s breath hot against her neck.
Shuddered at the wet fingers sliding out of her, the warm body pulling away, and half-turned to pull him back.
Sharp blue eyes met hers and narrowed; glanced beyond her, to Noah.
There was a breath and her neck began to ache, but she didn’t turn her head until she felt him settle against her again, felt him press a breathless kiss to her bare shoulder.
*
Noah inside of her and Claude slipping between her legs as they rocked.
Claude fast and desperate as he kissed the back of her neck, almost silent except for the sound of skin against skin, the heavy breaths rustling through her hair.
Noah slow and patient, knowing where to push and when to pause.
And she was close again, letting her head fall against Claude’s shoulder as she reached back to stroke at his hair and felt Noah still and tense.
*
“Bored of us already?”
Claude turned away from the window and gave her a shaky smile.
“Just thinkin’ of getting some air,” he said, fingers dropping into the pocket he most likely kept his cigarettes in, usually. “Fuck, I-“ he shook his head, embarrassed. “Sorry. Pardon my…French. And all that, I-“
“Lord, the two of you,” she said, handing him the pack she’d almost stepped on. “Don’t know how either of you get along by yourselves.”
“Be surprised,” he nodded nervously. “Anyway, gonna go now, find myself a match, some air to pollute a bit, so-“
“God forbid you open a window,” she teased.
“Ah, you’d catch cold. Especially wearin’ that.”
She resisted the temptation to draw the sheet around her more tightly and gave a pout of last resort.
He laughed, a little, and stepped closer.
“G’night, Sandra,” is all he said, before pressing a light kiss to her forehead like he was saying goodbye after Sunday dinner, and walking away.
*
The next morning came too bright and too early, but wonderfully warm.
Except that once Noah woke up, the arms around her weren’t nearly as relaxed, and the rest of the day was awkward.
Between them, as he apologized vaguely for the night before, for having to leave her alone for work, for Claude’s general existence, and for practically running out of the room before she could even get dressed.
But she spent the rest of the morning wandering, down the Champs-Élysées, around the impossibly cluttered halls of the Louvre, practicing the little French she knew and smiling when it wasn’t enough.
And she took a break, a quiet moment to walk halfway across a bridge and look out over the Seine, before going back.
“Not thinkin’ of jumping, are you?”
She turned to the man who’d appeared beside her impossibly quick, and frowned.
“No judgments, just wonderin’,” he shrugged, and offered her an apple. She shook her head and turned away as he took a bite.
She let a moment pass before she sighed.
“Really, the two of you. Actin’ like it wasn’t my choice, like I’m some little, innocent, Baptist schoolgirl who can’t…”
“Well,” she could hear him chewing, purposefully noisily, like the little boy she was pretty sure he had been. “You have been.”
“Not for years,” she shook her head, and smiled when his elbow nudged hers. “And I’m Mrs. Noah Bennet now, I know a thing or two.”
“Fair point,” he said, taking another bite from his apple, and continued, tone casual. “You ever regret that?”
“Regret what?”
“Mrs. Noah. Bennet. ”
“Like when I’m wondering if I could’ve been Mrs. Claude Rains?”
She heard a loud choking sound and resisted the temptation to look.
“No, not what I…not what I meant,” he pulled away, obviously flustered, and she turned back. Saw him blushing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and had to laugh.
“What did you mean?” she said, with a smile, and eased herself up to sit on the ledge.
“Just meant that…” he shrugged again. “You could’ve been livin’ out here, if you wanted. Travellin’. Writin’ or paintin’ or somewhat. Anything except stayin’ back in Odessa, Texas and waitin’ for your husband to come home, for the rest of your life.”
“I love him,” she shrugged back, and he laughed.
“Oh, fixes everythin’, that does,” he stepped closer, close enough to lean his elbows on the ledge and look out on the water. “Don’t know how you do it, either of you, I never…” he sighed, and his voice dropped lower. “I never could.”
“Thinking of jumping?” she nudged him as much as she could, and he chuckled before turning to look at her.
“Into the Seine? ’m not that mad,” he said, and then, after a beat, winked. “Get it?”
“Yes,” she said carefully, keeping her features serious. “I do.”
“Christ, no fun at all, either of you,” Claude snorted, and looked away. “Anyway. Your husband’s wonderin’ if you’re all right. Sent me out to talk to you first in case you’re out for blood.”
“What on earth did he think I was gonna do? Drive both of us off a bridge?”
Claude laughed, clearly surprised, and turned to grin at her with a kind of honest fondness she didn’t get to see too often.
“’s happened before, mate, this city makes people do all sorts of things,” he winked, and then turned away again. “Better go find him, then, before he ends up fallin’ for an anarchist.”
“Too late,” she chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he laughed, before hopping down and heading back to the hotel.
Title: Le Tourbillon de la Vie*
Characters/Pairings: Noah/Sandra/Claude. Yeah...
Rating: Are threesomes automatically NC17? Because I really don't think it's beyond R but...
Warnings: It is a threesome so, you know. That. Sex, of the het and slash variety, but not terribly explicit, at least in my mind.
Spoilers: Maybe a bit for "The Golden Handshake" GN although really not.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.
Summary: A trip to Paris takes a turn for the...interesting. The even more interesting if I ever get around to writing the sequel don't encourage me but really, do.
A/N: So, how many references can I randomly squeeze into a fic? You will see. Fic expanded upon from prompt at YAHKM, originally posted here.
*Anyone more familiar with French can maybe answer this, do you actually capitalize all of that for a title? Or is like Spanish and it's only the first word? I never do know what to do with those things.
[Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]
[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Epilogue]
She’d never been to Europe before.
Heck, she’d never been out of the States.
Noah knew, of course, but maybe she was trying to keep it to herself a little, trying not to let it be so obvious.
Trying not to run her fingers over the fresh pages of her passport (never had one of those before, either). Trying not to grin like a little girl when the rush of the plane going down the runway pushed her back against the seat.
“Are you feeling okay?” Noah squeezed her hand in concern, and looked about to launch into an explanation of just how safe flying was.
She grinned more than a little bit like a little girl and nodded, then turned to look out the window as Texas fell away and Paris got just a little bit closer.
*
She couldn’t sleep on the plane.
Never had a problem with that kind of thing before, had been on planes before, but never that big of one, never one headed to Paris.
“All those lights keepin’ you up already, then?”
She leaned forward to look around Noah’s sleeping form and see Claude wink at her over his magazine. And then duck his head toward the seat next to him, which was inexplicably empty.
She stepped around Noah as carefully as she could and crossed the aisle.
“Where’s your friend?” she smiled, and tried to ignore the cloud of perfume she was now sitting in.
“Of findin’ somebody else to reject her advances, I’d imagine,” Claude gave her a sardonic smile (in other words, the same kind as usual) and shrugged.
“Want me to stick around until she comes back?”
“Want you to stick ‘round till the plane lands,” he murmured, grinning and cutting her off as she began to protest. “ ‘s fine, we’ll just tell her you’ve been here the whole time, give her somethin’ to talk to her therapist about.”
“Oh, honestly, Claude, she wasn’t that bad,” but she couldn’t help giggle. “Don’t know how Noah puts up with you.”
“Mystery for the ages, that.”
“Well, your people are good at solving mysteries.”
Claude looked at her and smirked.
“Can’t trust everythin’ you read from a bloke who believed in fairies, Sandra. Fact I’d say you can’t trust anythin’ from someone like that, but especially if it’s about an opium addict.”
“And Agatha Christie?”
“Woman disappears off the face of the earth for a week, she’s clearly got, as my friend would say, issues,” and he even went so far as to do his ‘American’ accent, which he probably knew was guaranteed to make her laughed.
She did, at least, and he smiled, maybe a bit softer than usual.
“You excited?” he said, not looking at her, and she couldn’t just nod.
“Quite a bit.”
Claude grinned at that, and glanced back up at her.
“Should get some sleep,” he nodded toward Noah, who had begun to snore softly. “He’s got the right idea, as always.”
Sandra giggled again.
“Well, for once, then,” Claude rolled his eyes, but kept smiling. “But it’s like Christmas mornin’, yeah? It’ll get here sooner.”
“You’re just tryin’ to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
“Never!” and he pitched it the way that always confused her, always made her wonder if he was being sarcastic or sincere.
Either way. She went back to her seat.
*
Claude was right.
There was too much to see, too much to do, too many things she’d only seen in movies and travel books to do her best not to stare at directly, too many women walking by with amazing shoes, too many handsome men in good clothes.
Too much light, too much life, too much city to spend a minute more in the hotel than she needed to, shaking off jet lag.
Too much fantastic food, too much wonderful wine.
Too much wine. Yes. That was true.
Much too much wine, except that…it was just the right amount to have Noah looking and acting about ten years younger, blushing and looking, brazen and awkward. Tucking back strands of her hair, whispering against her neck, letting a hand settle on her knee when her skirt slid up. Leaving her breathless, so maybe it was exactly the right amount, of wine.
Not enough to let himself be dragged onto a dance floor straight out of Charade, but more than enough for Claude to grab her hand, wink at Noah, and send her skirt swirling in the dim light.
And he wasn’t a great dancer, his own inherent rhythm too strong to follow anyone else’s, but he didn’t have to be.
The music was slow and rich, curling around them like the smoke that would’ve made her start coughing back in Odessa but here just made her feel warm and like she was moving through molasses.
Sweet and smooth, like the taste of wine still on her lips and slide of hands down her back.
And then a part of warmth was gone, only a hand against her waist, and Noah looking at her with eyes that she didn’t quite recognize and should’ve felt guilty about.
Shouldn’t have felt like she’d just drunk an entire bottle of wine, her skin flushing and her head spinning and her mouth smiling as her husband and his best friend stared at each other, close enough to-
And she was being spun around again, in a rush that should’ve made her feel nauseous but the only thing coming out of her mouth when Noah caught her against his chest was laughter.
That got lower, slower, as her arms went around his neck and his hands found their place on her hips.
And it took her a while to notice the second pair of hands, the warmth against her back. The shallow breaths against her neck as her own were stolen by Noah’s mouth on hers. The slide of a palm across her stomach, hesitant at first, bolder when she didn’t do anything but try and suck it in a little.
Low hum of laughter under her ear too much to let her think straight, twin lines of hardness pressed to her back and stomach not helping much, there, but she didn’t mind.
Didn’t mind so much that when the music tapered off and left the only sounds in her ears her own heart beat and the interwoven shallow breaths of the three of them, she was quick to nod when Claude suggested stealing them a cab.
*
Claude must’ve paid for the cab, she realized.
She hadn’t noticed, hadn’t noticed much after Noah pulled her off the cool leather seat and onto his lap, kissing her like he’d gotten the car for the weekend and they only had an hour before he had to get her home for curfew.
But she was noticing a lot now, as they fell into the bed she hadn’t even slept in yet, Claude’s hand pushing up her skirt, Noah’s mouth on her neck as he unbuttoned her shirt with familiar fingers as unfamiliar ones stroked up her thigh.
And then further up, light and maddeningly cautious, until she heard herself gasp and let herself rock back against him.
A finger slipped inside of her easily, and then another, the careful, slick stroke of a third against her sex, and she gripped at Noah’s arms as they wrapped around her waist and kept her steady.
She came with Noah’s lips just barely holding in her moans and Claude’s breath hot against her neck.
Shuddered at the wet fingers sliding out of her, the warm body pulling away, and half-turned to pull him back.
Sharp blue eyes met hers and narrowed; glanced beyond her, to Noah.
There was a breath and her neck began to ache, but she didn’t turn her head until she felt him settle against her again, felt him press a breathless kiss to her bare shoulder.
*
Noah inside of her and Claude slipping between her legs as they rocked.
Claude fast and desperate as he kissed the back of her neck, almost silent except for the sound of skin against skin, the heavy breaths rustling through her hair.
Noah slow and patient, knowing where to push and when to pause.
And she was close again, letting her head fall against Claude’s shoulder as she reached back to stroke at his hair and felt Noah still and tense.
*
“Bored of us already?”
Claude turned away from the window and gave her a shaky smile.
“Just thinkin’ of getting some air,” he said, fingers dropping into the pocket he most likely kept his cigarettes in, usually. “Fuck, I-“ he shook his head, embarrassed. “Sorry. Pardon my…French. And all that, I-“
“Lord, the two of you,” she said, handing him the pack she’d almost stepped on. “Don’t know how either of you get along by yourselves.”
“Be surprised,” he nodded nervously. “Anyway, gonna go now, find myself a match, some air to pollute a bit, so-“
“God forbid you open a window,” she teased.
“Ah, you’d catch cold. Especially wearin’ that.”
She resisted the temptation to draw the sheet around her more tightly and gave a pout of last resort.
He laughed, a little, and stepped closer.
“G’night, Sandra,” is all he said, before pressing a light kiss to her forehead like he was saying goodbye after Sunday dinner, and walking away.
*
The next morning came too bright and too early, but wonderfully warm.
Except that once Noah woke up, the arms around her weren’t nearly as relaxed, and the rest of the day was awkward.
Between them, as he apologized vaguely for the night before, for having to leave her alone for work, for Claude’s general existence, and for practically running out of the room before she could even get dressed.
But she spent the rest of the morning wandering, down the Champs-Élysées, around the impossibly cluttered halls of the Louvre, practicing the little French she knew and smiling when it wasn’t enough.
And she took a break, a quiet moment to walk halfway across a bridge and look out over the Seine, before going back.
“Not thinkin’ of jumping, are you?”
She turned to the man who’d appeared beside her impossibly quick, and frowned.
“No judgments, just wonderin’,” he shrugged, and offered her an apple. She shook her head and turned away as he took a bite.
She let a moment pass before she sighed.
“Really, the two of you. Actin’ like it wasn’t my choice, like I’m some little, innocent, Baptist schoolgirl who can’t…”
“Well,” she could hear him chewing, purposefully noisily, like the little boy she was pretty sure he had been. “You have been.”
“Not for years,” she shook her head, and smiled when his elbow nudged hers. “And I’m Mrs. Noah Bennet now, I know a thing or two.”
“Fair point,” he said, taking another bite from his apple, and continued, tone casual. “You ever regret that?”
“Regret what?”
“Mrs. Noah. Bennet. ”
“Like when I’m wondering if I could’ve been Mrs. Claude Rains?”
She heard a loud choking sound and resisted the temptation to look.
“No, not what I…not what I meant,” he pulled away, obviously flustered, and she turned back. Saw him blushing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and had to laugh.
“What did you mean?” she said, with a smile, and eased herself up to sit on the ledge.
“Just meant that…” he shrugged again. “You could’ve been livin’ out here, if you wanted. Travellin’. Writin’ or paintin’ or somewhat. Anything except stayin’ back in Odessa, Texas and waitin’ for your husband to come home, for the rest of your life.”
“I love him,” she shrugged back, and he laughed.
“Oh, fixes everythin’, that does,” he stepped closer, close enough to lean his elbows on the ledge and look out on the water. “Don’t know how you do it, either of you, I never…” he sighed, and his voice dropped lower. “I never could.”
“Thinking of jumping?” she nudged him as much as she could, and he chuckled before turning to look at her.
“Into the Seine? ’m not that mad,” he said, and then, after a beat, winked. “Get it?”
“Yes,” she said carefully, keeping her features serious. “I do.”
“Christ, no fun at all, either of you,” Claude snorted, and looked away. “Anyway. Your husband’s wonderin’ if you’re all right. Sent me out to talk to you first in case you’re out for blood.”
“What on earth did he think I was gonna do? Drive both of us off a bridge?”
Claude laughed, clearly surprised, and turned to grin at her with a kind of honest fondness she didn’t get to see too often.
“’s happened before, mate, this city makes people do all sorts of things,” he winked, and then turned away again. “Better go find him, then, before he ends up fallin’ for an anarchist.”
“Too late,” she chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he laughed, before hopping down and heading back to the hotel.