Tag Archives: ;drabble

She’d known, had always known, couldn’t help but know, that wasn’t the end of it. Not for him; not for her. They’d been granted a reprieve, that was all. Unearned, undeserved, hellishly cruel in its coming, but reprieve. She wondered, in the darkest times of night when the world closes in (a hutch to trammel some wild thing in) (that quote had always been cuttingly cruel), she wondered, would they ever face it?

Or would it be just her, looking down the black pit of might-have-been?

Tony’s nightmares were wild, loud, jagged replays of helplessness and perceived failure. They exploded, like the bomb with his name that ripped into his heart.

Hers were subtler, filled with silence, or only the sound of her own voice, arguing with the shadows. They cut seamlessly, like flechettes parting skin with only the blood to show, painless.

When she woke, when the rage was no longer real and all the could-have-beens vanished under what had been, then the pain came.

You would have stopped him loving any but you

I don’t know why he loves you at all

could have been primary, but demanded only instead

rather die than see him with another

maybe you should be dead

give him up

You drove him away.

Define Remorse

Tony had been gone for two days now. Summer had essentially locked herself in her apartment the entire time, trying in vain to distract herself. She hadn’t been able to let herself sleep; every time she laid down and closed her eyes, her mind, freed of outside input, began to rehash the whole situation all over again.

She had been first. She’d always thought that of course Dummy knew about her. She knew about him, didn’t she? She’d seen the ring Tony sometimes wore, she’d asked about it. She didn’t ask Tony for /things/, but she’d never had any issue asking him /about/ things. She kept arguing in her head with Dummy, trying to explain to him that if he had only asked, if he had only paid attention — she’d been there for months. Jarvis let her in without challenge.

Part of her wanted to believe that if Dummy hadn’t known, and things had been fine for so long, then it could have carried on being fine if he had continued to not know. But her innate honesty reared up in protest against that — it wasn’t how polyamory worked, and it wasn’t how she wanted to live. Since /she/ hadn’t known that Dummy didn’t know, before, that was one thing.

But now that she did know, she couldn’t endorse pretending. Soon or late, Dummy would have begun to suspect — and she rather thought, from his attitude regarding Tony, it would have been sooner.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that Tony was safe, not smashed into pieces in isolation somewhere, and fled deeper and deeper into her books.

Claustrophilia!

Claustrophilia: I’ll write our characters having sex in a confined/small space

“Gods, Lex!” Summer gasped, writhing under the witch’s hand up her skirt. It was fortunate that they were parked after an afternoon in Central Park, because her ability to concentrate was utterly shot. What had begun as a swift, friendly kiss had turned very quickly into an almost frantic scramble of hands, elbows, tongues, and teeth.

Lex held dominion for the moment, skilled and agile fingers tracing patterns on the inside of Summer’s thighs blindly. She was lunged over the center divider, her other hand behind Summer’s head locked into the long red hair. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Lex’s smile was positively wicked before she twisted to capture Summer’s mouth again.

Lex’s tongue pressed in behind the other girl’s teeth just as her fingers slid up past lace edges to tickle damp folds. Summer whined, her hips pressing upward, and whispered, “Please …” Lex’s low chuckle was the only answer. Summer’s fingers scraped for purchase against leather and plastic and metal.

One smooth thrust, and Lex curled her fingers inside Summer, bringing the redhead to throw her head back, eyes rolling shut on a breathless cry. “Yes, baby?” Lex purred, licking up the exposed throat. The witch knew what the empath liked, and began to slip her fingers in and out, thumb flicking back and forth.

It took very, very little time for Summer to begin gasping, half-sobbing and half-keening, under Lex’s hands.

Shag Me ;)

‘Sex with a guy is all very well and good,’ Summer thinks, ‘but sometimes you just need some girl time.’

And girl time with Lex was glorious. Summer curls up against the other girl on the bed, head snuggled against her breasts, face tipped up to be kissed. They’ve been kissing for a while, languorous and sweet, licking at each others’ mouths like ice cream.

Lex slides a hand down the column of Summer’s throat, snagging fingers in the buttons of her shirt. It’s just snaps, and they part easily before her questing fingers, baring Summer’s breasts to the cool air. In return, Summer works her hand under the edge of Lex’s shirt, curving fingernails into the soft skin and scraping pale marks of possession.

Lex takes her time about it, shaping the subtle curves of Summer’s throat and shoulders, tracing the inner slopes of her breasts. Summer shudders, fingers splaying languidly in the sheets. They writhe a bit together, rearranging hands for better access, and then the brunette slides her hands over the taut skin of Summer’s abdomen.

The redhead throws her head back, keening very softly, almost pleading. Lex glides her fingertips by slow inches lower until they meet tangled curls, and Summer whimpers as she pauses. Her throat is invitingly arched, so Lex kisses her way along it, setting teeth to caress her pulse.

“Don’t stop!” A fevered, desperate gasp. Lex takes it in, drinking down her rasping breaths, and slides her fingers into welcoming warmth. Summer’s whole body flexes in pleased shock, fingers clawing and mouth opening. After a moment for her to relax, Lex curves her fingers within her body, eliciting another stutter in her breathing, another low keen. Hips rise, seeking.

One free hand traces the out-thrust arc of hipbone, while Lex twists her fingers within the other girl. Summer’s cry this time is louder, and Lex smiles softly, buried in her tangling curls. She wants rhythm, but Lex won’t give it to her, now rocking in and out, now twisting, now scraping fingernails inside her. Her back describes a perfect arch as Summer seeks to impale herself on the moving hand, increasingly desperate for release.

Lex stills, thrust deeply inside her body, and whispers, “Do you see? How it is to be possessed? Controlled, contained?” One finger twitches, and Summer cries out, something incoherent and acquiescent. Relenting, the witch brushes the pearl of flesh above the girl’s opening with her thumb, and the redhead trembles in climax against her chest. Lex closes her eyes and cradles Summer’s relaxing body, still smiling that faint, half-cruel smile.

Sleeping to Dream

Summer sleeps. It’s an emulation of her usual postures: sprawled, cat-like, taking up far more space than seems geometrically possible for a person of her size. Her hands are tucked close, though, clutching coverlets around her shoulders, the lower half of her face hidden by the fabric.

Tearstains mark the pillows she’s snuggled up to, betraying evidence of how she achieved sleep, and those covers not clutched close are jumbled awry by restless dreams. Her face now moves in those same dreams: anguish, yearning, pleading.