The dirty looks and whispered comments hurt, she couldn't deny it, but Christine's barb about sleeping her way to the top had bypassed hurt and gone straight to anger. It took all her energy to keep from pounding her fist into Christine's smug face, but she settled for asking after Michael and trusted that their audience would discern the hypocrisy for themselves.
She hadn't been given the job because of her relationship with Lorraine, but in spite of the end of their affair. Not that she'd tell Christine that or any of the others. They could think what they liked, but the only person whose opinion mattered was Lorraine, and she was the one person who didn't need to be told.
She didn't know if Lorraine would ever be ready for a real relationship, but she'd suffer through the gossip and taunts if it would smooth the way for whatever the future might hold.
Days and weeks spent exploring far away worlds, long nights spent working in her lab, weekends spent riding and tinkering with her bike, birthdays and anniversaries missed due to careless forgetfulness. These are the battering rams that pound against the foundation of their relationship again and again. Cracks appear but she's not there to fill in the mortar. Too long ignored, cracks become deep fissures and bricks begin to crumble.
The house found empty when attention finally paid. Her voice, her tears, her shattered heart fall in hollow silence to land next to crushed dreams. Janet... forever lost to another.
The Only One
She moves across the room with the cat-like grace, her eyes fixed upon her prey. She will capture her quarry; she always does. One look in her eyes, one touch of her hand and they'll be hers. For perhaps an hour. She needs what they give her, what I cannot. So I watch them leave and, turning back to the bar to nurse my drink, wait for her return.
I feel her warm curves against my back.
"Let's go home," she murmurs.
"Did you get what you needed?"
"Yes... but you're the only one I want, that I love, Lauren."
Growing up, Kenzi always knew her family would be considered anything but "normal." Her experiences on the street would be considered by most to be outside the definition of "normal" as well. And certainly no rational human would look at her current circle of friends - a succubus, a siren, a shape-shifter, and a fae king - and say her life was "normal."
As she poured some milk into her bowl of cereal, a loud noise broke the silence. She paused and listened for a few moments as Bo's voice joined Lauren's in apparent carnal delight.
She chuckled. "Normal" was definitely overrated.
Leathers. They excited her, made her feel alive in a way that nothing else did. Sam always took her time putting them on, drawing out the ritual. The scent, the feel against her skin, the sense of power that they gave her were a heady pleasure.
They were the very reason she had started riding a motorcycle — it was the only acceptable reason to wear them, according to her father. So she rode... a lot.
But things change. Now her favorite thing about her leathers was the lustful look in Janet's eyes as she slowly peeled them off of her.
Janet was, by nature, a caring soul. Her empathy coupled with her seemingly inexhaustible patience made her a good doctor, a good healer. However, even she had her breaking point.
It usually came not during the cacophony of an emergency, but during the quiet times, after the dust had settled and she knew her friends were no longer in danger.
As a doctor she could do no harm. But that didn't mean she couldn't act out in subtle ways, pay back those "problem" patients when they got on her last nerve - with the stethoscope she kept in her office refrigerator.
It Was Raining
It was raining.
Only fitting. Monica ignored the others, their hushed whispers and covert glances as she gazed out the window. Their presence made no difference, not to her, and certainly not to Dana.
She fingered the cross that hung around her neck. She wasn't religious, but she'd never removed the cross that Dana gave her their first Christmas together.
She turned and walked across the room. Withdrawing her necklace's twin from her pocket, Monica kissed Dana's forehead before setting the cross on her chest. "Till we meet again, Dana," she whispered before leaving the chapel to mourn in private.
JJ prays. Soft, sweet whispered prayers, mumbled under her breath at dinner, in the dark bedroom once Emily's breath slows. JJ never talks about her faith to Emily, never asks Emily to go to church with her. If anything, she tries to shield Emily from her faith, knowing how badly Emily was hurt by the church.
Emily slows her breathing on purpose at night to hear JJ's prayers. She listens to JJ thank God for her, for the gift of this amazing woman and their love. JJ doesn't hesitate to believe that God sanctioned their love, that the love between two women is any less holy than any other.
JJ's faith is strong, as strong as her goodness. That faith is unlike any Emily has ever known. There is no place for anger, guilt, or punishment. With JJ there is only forgiveness, warmth, and peace. Sometimes Emily thanks God for JJ.
At first there was only "if". If her mother hadn't gotten cancer. If Huff hadn't kissed that drug rep- twice.
If Huff's ex-patient hadn't attacked her. If Izzy hadn't been the one to find and comfort her. If Huff hadn't worried more about the patient than her.
If she hadn't lied for Izzy. If she hadn't seen a glimpse of the Izzy behind the facade. If Huff hadn't left. If Izzy hadn't decided to give her advice.
If Izzy hadn't been drinking again. If Izzy hadn't kissed her. If she hadn't kissed her back.
Then it wasn't "if". It was "did". She did kiss Izzy. She did make love to Izzy, more tenderly and joyously than she could remember doing so in months. She did fall for Izzy, a slow subconscious slide of confiding, comforting and laughing. God, she barely remembered laughing.
Izzy just "was". She was there. She was tricky and surprising. She was falling too.
The Piece of You in Me
You kept a part of her inside you, from when you were forged from the same prophecy. In her first death was your calling, and in your almost death was her almost freedom.
She'd known she'd failed as you smiled and let go into the tumbling black. She knew you still had that part, from when harlot lips met soft pink and your souls echoed, a warped mirror in two jagged parts.
She'd tried so hard to get that piece back, knowing she'd have to break you. She'd smashed you like a piggybank, eagerly searching everything that fell from you. She couldn't have known that you'd already taken that piece and slowly grew yourself around it, until it was a part of you.
She couldn't have know that you loved her, tragically and angrily. She couldn't have know unless she'd taken a moment to ever look into your eyes. Then she'd have known instantly.
He approached the women, wizened with age; eyes still blazing with life, nervously, yet full of hope for his redemption.
"Well Lennier," asked the ancient black-eyed witch; Delenn gripped her arm.
Bowing his head, to avoid the witches eyes, he handed her the PADD.
The witch nodded and, despite her vivid facial scarification; seemed to smile as Delenn took the PADD and asked; curious, "This is not a Minbari name."
"A nickname, beloved."
For the first time in Lennier's memory, the ancient witch Tara Maclay cried; then laughing aloud, she said, "The first Slayer on Minbar for countless generations is called Buffy!"
S is for Sunrise
The first night that Idgie brings her home from Geogia, Ruth can't sleep. She's exhausted, but her mind won't still and her body aches.
Somewhere in the long hours, in the darkest part of the night, Ruth realizes there's a figure standing at her door. She has a moment of pure terror, he heart pounding so hard in chest that she can hardly breathe. Then she realizes it's just Idgie. She can't hold her hand out, but she wants to.
Idgie stands there for a long time before she comes in and sits down beside Ruth on the bed. Ruth scoots over a little, making room for her. Idgie's shoulder is at just the right height for her to lean her head against it.
Neither one of them says anything.
Ruth finds her mind drifting a little, but she never manages to fall asleep. Together they watch the sun rise on a new day.
T is for Torture
Jenny is pretty sure that someone would have an objection to what Ziva's doing to her with her tongue - if they knew. And thank god they don't, or they'd both be out of jobs so fast their heads would spin. But that's all part of the fun.
That and the Geneva Convention violating cruel-and-unusual punishment that Ziva's wreaking on her with talented lips and teeth and tongue.
Jenny can't hold back the moan that spills out of her any longer. Ziva glances up, her hair falling away from her face, just long enough for Jenny to catch a glimpse of her infuriating smirk. Jenny squirms, not just irritated with Ziva, but at herself. She's losing this little game they play and she hates losing.
Ziva's tongue strokes and Jenny gasps again, involuntarily. She might be losing, but what away to go. And best of all, she'll get her chance to return the favor soon enough.
Then she shudders again and whimpers. God, what Ziva does to her...
D is for Double-Jointed
A bead of sweat trickles down Mac's throat. Ziva follows it's descent until it reaches the base of Mac's neck and then leans over to cover it with her lips. Mac doesn't open her eyes but reaches up to tangle her fingers in Ziva's thick hair and hold her where she is. Her fingers tighten as Ziva's teeth scrape lightly over her skin. Ziva nips a little bit harder and is rewarded with Mac's eyes snapping open.
"Are you trying to leave a mark?" she asks with an arch of her eyebrow.
Ziva shakes her head and nuzzles into Mac's neck. "It will not show above your collar. And..." she hesitates. "You are free now."
Mac snorts cynically, but her nails scratch lightly at the base of Ziva's head. "You know it's not that simple."
"No," Ziva admitted. The mood feels as if it's slipping away.
Mac pushed herself up on one elbow and rolled over, pushing Ziva onto her back and covering Ziva's body with her own. "But just because it's not simple, doesn't mean it's not worth doing." She stroked Ziva's cheek with the back of her fingers and kissed her - hard.
Ziva smiled against Mac's lips and fell back against the sheets, wrapping her legs around Mac's waist.
Perhaps it wasn't as much of a lost cause as she had feared.
D is for Double-Jointed
The first thing everyone thinks when they hear "double-jointed" is "ooh, sexy". Abby knows this. How many guys have gotten a certain glint in their eyes when they heard it? How many girls have laughed, delighted?
Usually, though, it's a disappointment. Oh, sure she's flexible, but who cares? There's so much more to sex than that.
When Ziva finds out, she cocks her head and gives Abby a measuring look. "I could teach you how to slip free from many types of restraints."
She says it so matter-of-factly, Abby just blinks. Then she shivers. "Okay." Private lessons are good; private lessons with Ziva - even better.
And that night when she's in her bed, restrained by silk around her wrists, Abby squirms, but that last thing she wants to do is get away - not when Ziva is tormenting her with lips and teeth and tongue, driving her to exquisite agony.
R is for Radiant
Natalia is wearing a light cotton sundress in shades of blue and gold with thin spaghetti straps baring her shoulders that only serve to make Olivia want to push her fingers beneath them, slipping them off Natalia's shoulders. Olivia reaches forward to take Natalia's hand; her feet are freezing.
The thought is jarring. It's the middle of summer and the sun is pouring down on them. Natalia is radiant and smiling, looking over at Olivia like some mysterious siren. Olivia doesn't even try to resist.
She blinks and then groans. Her feet are still cold and the light in the room is so dim that she can barely see. Olivia makes out the familiar shape of her sleeping lover and then lets her head sag back onto the pillow. Just a dream.
"Your toes are freezing," Natalia slurs a little grumpily. She doesn't even open her eyes.
Olivia turns and nuzzles into her neck, breathing in Natalia's scent and pressing a sleepy kiss against her throat. She doesn't move her feet, just wiggles them closer between Natalia's calves.
Natalia snorts and turns her head to face Olivia. "You're lucky I love you."
Olivia smiles. "I am."
In the dim light, grumpy and tousled, Natalia is still radiant.
Q is for Quilt
There's snow coming down outside and a fire crackling in the fireplace, but it feels almost perfect to Natalia. Olivia is snuggled up next to her on the couch, sharing the heavy quilt. It's just barely big enough to cover them both, but Natalia doesn't mind. It's an even better excuse to stay close - not that they need one lately.
Olivia has been fairly doting on her since the moment she moved in - intent on pampering her and spoiling the baby as much as possible - even before she's born. It took some adjustment for Natalia, accepting all that attention. But she likes being the source of Olivia's focus. Some days it feels daunting. Other's just right. But never like anything she's ever had before.
There's no particular goal for today, no push, no hurry, just them being together, and Natalia loves it. She loves being able to sit here in the warm sphere of Olivia's arms and turn and kiss her whenever she wants - safe and warm under their quilt.
B is for Blog
"You're not going to blog about this are you?"
With Doris sprawled, naked and sweaty, across her bed, giving her a measuring look it seems insulting, but Blake knows why she's asking. She gets it. That doesn't mean she likes it. She's changed, turned over a new leaf.
"Don't be silly."
Doris sits up. "Because it's your bed I'm in?"
Blake turns her head away. She feels hurt, not romantic. Doris touches her thigh. Apology in a brush of skin. Blake sighs, shifts toward her.
"Because I like you."
Doris kisses her hard.
One word, perfect in its execution; said with just the right amount of warning, concern, fear... love?
Said by a machine without the capacity to feel any of these things, a machine only sent back to protect John; and yet, John wasn't here, making Sarah think confusing thoughts she didn't want to think.
Why did the machine continue to fight... with her... for her?
A body crashing by, riddled with bullets, and more dead than any human could ever be, meant she may never get the chance to ask why.
Bending over, caressing, Sarah whispered her own word.
The beautiful Brazilian was a puzzle to her...and she loved puzzles. The woman could have been a star on the international modeling scene. Instead, she chose to work in Runway's make-up department.
"Serena, I'm leaving for the bridge shoot. You're coming."
"But...but, Miranda, I've got..." She sputtered to a halt.
"I do not remember giving you a choice."
Once at the shoot, both women entered the trailer where the models changed. Miranda emptied it with a glance.
"I don't know what you mean."
Serena sighed, toying with a scarf she had picked up from the floor. She knew the answer Miranda wanted to hear, not the one she told people. She would not —could not— lie to the elegant woman standing in front of her.
"Most people just look at the surface. They see the eyes, the hair and the shape. They don't want to look any further. They don't want to know what I think or feel. So, I stopped trying to explain myself. I let them have their little fantasies."
"I want them to see ME...the good and the bad. I want them to see the woman who loves to laugh, who cries watching sad movies; the woman who wants to love and be loved in return."
Placing her hands on either side of Serena's face, Miranda kissed her softly on the lips. "I see you."
She could feel the ground tremble as she neared the edge of the platform. The subway train would roar past in just a few more minutes.
Miranda, I don't understand. I...I thought you felt the same way as I do. I love you.
Silly girl...this was never meant to be anything but a fling...a passing fancy.
What? Ever since Paris, you and I...we've...
For heaven's sake, grow up! This has been nothing but a mere dalliance. I needed a distraction after the divorce...you were available. Andrea, every cat is gray in the dark. Now go fetch the Valentino file.
The rumbling was getting louder. It wouldn't be long now. The light from the train illuminated the tunnel, making it easy to see the tracks and the far side of the tunnel.
As she stepped forward, a hand clamped around her elbow and jerked her back. Twirling her around, he pulled her closely to him, squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe let alone move.
The train flew past. The moment was gone. Andy could only sob on the nattily dressed man's shoulder.
There was something up with Nigel. He was snapping at everyone, even Miranda. Andy cornered him in the Closet after everyone else had left for the day.
"OK, what's up Nigel? You've been as bad as Miranda lately. I'd like to know what's bothering you. We're friends...and friends help each other through the tough times. So give..."
"Spare me the false sentiments Andy...and go home. I've got work to finish."
"OH HELL NO! Don't even go there. I DO care...and I'm NOT going anywhere."
Removing his glasses, Nigel lowered his head. "My brother died last week. He was sick for a while," he whispered.
"What? I don't understand."
"Pneumonia...he had pneumonia. No one contacted me. They buried him...and no one called. No one called the fag, the queer boy..."
"Oh God...I'm so sorry." Andy pulled him into a fierce hug.
A Cinderella of Sorts
Lily hadn't meant to do it. Andy was out of town with her boyfriend. The invitation was just sitting there, begging to be used. What harm could it do? It would just go to waste. For once in her life, she wanted to be Cinderella. She wanted to be the one to go to the ball and dance until midnight.
It was a good thing Andy and she were about the same size. The dress was a little snug in the bodice but otherwise everything else was perfect. She wouldn't have any trouble finding a mask to match. She didn't have glass slippers but the pumps Andy had given her would do just fine.
The charity gala was in full swing by the time she arrived. Everyone was masked, most wore costumes.
Every minute was like a dream come true especially when the dancing started. One person in particular seemed quite taken with her. She could tell it was a woman by the stature and the softness she felt as they danced closely together. She didn't mind...this was heaven.
Late in the evening, the pair walked to a small alcove almost completely hidden by heavy drapes. Sitting on the bench, facing each other, Lily leaned into her partner. Starting as a chaste kiss, both began to increase the pressure until they were hungrily devouring each other's mouths.
"OK everyone, it's midnight. It's time to pull off your masks and end the ball."
Lily pulled away and ran for the exit. She had to leave! They would know she didn't belong!
Miranda ran after her but the crowd slowed her movements. She arrived at the top of the steps in time to see a cab pull away. Sighing, she looked down...a shoe...a Prada pump would be her only memory of this glorious evening.
Sweat poured into her eyes as she lifted the hundred and fifty pound weight over her head. So what if she was a size six? She was going to leave those anorexic bitches at Runway in the dust!
Every morning before work, Andy dragged her butt to the gym....lifting weights, swimming, running, working out her frustrations. She could do 200 crunches and sit-ups without breaking a sweat. It was bad enough that she constantly thought of Miranda but now her trainer had invaded her dreams, screaming at her...FASTER! FASTER! YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!
CRAP! CRAP! CRAP! What a fine day to forget her work clothes! The trainer had her doing extra reps and she wouldn't have time to run home to change. After showering at the gym, she threw on the spare workout clothes that she kept in her locker. She had enough time to sneak into the Closet and borrow something to wear. No one would be there.
Standing barefoot in the Closet in her panties and bra, she started to pull a sweater over her head. Hearing an ominous sound...someone clearing their throat...she turned. Miranda was standing six inches away.
The older woman smiled and reached over, locking the door. Miranda approached slowly, like a cat stalking its prey, slowly circling. Putting her hand out, her fingers ghosted over Andy's chiseled abdomen, eyes hungrily taking in the defined musculature of the younger woman's body.
Andy bent and easily lifted Miranda onto a nearby table. On hands and knees, she crawled over the older woman and began trailing kisses down her neck. Oh yes, this was a much better way to relieve frustration!
A Pigs in a Blanket Affair
It's not a wedding or a commitment, but it's a party and they're together - really together.
And there are pigs in a blanket.
It almost makes Ani cry when she sees them, because despite all her bullshit Gina knows her. It's just one more reason Ani fell in love with her.
Gina finds her then and Ani has to laugh at her own sentimentality. But Gina doesn't mock. She just takes Ani in her arms and holds her and looks at her like the most gorgeous, important woman in the world.
And she falls in love all over again.
She doesn't understand. Can't she see that she's perfect in her imperfection?
She is breaking, broken, falling apart, falling down. Can't she see that this addiction is tearing you both apart?
She is hurting, hurling. Can't she see that she needs help?
She is out of control, but alcohol controls her too strongly. Moments filled with screeching, sobbing.
One push too far. One hand too hard. One second spiraling.
One chance for change. One time to make this better, make it right. One kiss and one touch to let her know you're still here.
U is for unquenchable
Olivia was insatiable. Natalia knew that, had known it from their first meeting, as disastrous as it was. Still, that voraciousness suited Olivia, and Natalia knew that as well. She had come to appreciate that particular character trait for reasons she could not even think about without blushing. But, it wasn't her sexual appetite or her business savvy that made Olivia irresistible. It wasn't her single-mindedness or her incredible endurance to her quests that made her so successful. No, Natalia knew a secret about Olivia, one that would make the intimidating woman redden with its implications.
Olivia was ticklish.
She would giggle like a schoolgirl, young and free and untainted, when Natalia's fingers skimmed over a particularly sensitive spot. It was that - that purity of soul - which held Olivia's real power. After all she had experienced, Olivia could still feel joy, could still hope for the goodness she knew existed in the world. It was a closely guarded facet of her personality, a trait she would deny, dispute with her history as evidence. But, Natalia knew the truth.
Olivia was a good person.
It wasn't just because of the borrowed heart beating in her chest. It wasn't just because of the daughters and son she would die to protect. It wasn't just because of her unwavering support of Natalia's dreams. It was because Olivia could recognize, better than most, how little life meant without all of these things. It was because Olivia had never allowed anything to satiate her spirit. She would fight, laugh, love, win, lose, grow, change, and live.
Olivia was unquenchable.
T is for thorns
Owning a flower shop meant Luce had gotten accustomed to the pinpoint of thorns early in her career. The pain barely registered anymore, so she could arrange a dozen roses without noticing the tiny red spots littering her fingers as vibrant and alive as the silken petals.
After saying goodbye in the park, Luce returned to her shop and tried to get back to work. Life had to continue, and her flowers still required care. But, it was difficult to concentrate with the taste of Rachel fresh on her lips.
Now, everything was more real, held more meaning, was felt more intensely.
Now, she could no longer escape the stab of the thorns even as they served as a reminder of Rachel's body pressed against her own.
Now, all she had was beauty laced with pain.
P is for pale
They would be fighting for their lives. They all knew it.
They could slip away, fade into the darkness that existed just beyond the bulkhead at any moment. Who would remember? Who would care?
Still, it was the nature of their jobs. It had always been a possibility, yet it was different this time, more real and intimate.
Lambert desperately wanted to feel grounded again, to shake off the growing panic that had settled inside her chest after Kane's death, his face, pale and distorted, constantly flashing in her mind. She saw no escape.
She found Ripley in a side corridor, her cheek still slightly red from the consequences of following protocol. Lambert wanted to be sorry, but she couldn't, not now. Instead, she pushed Ripley into an empty storeroom, the musty smell of equipment and replacement parts warring with her own arousal.
She didn't allow the other woman to speak, did not want to hear questions or apologizes or promises. She just wanted Ripley. Plain and simple.
They undressed each other only enough to reach a goal, their movements fast but effective. Lambert touched Ripley roughly but with admiration, lust erasing circumstances as Ripley's fingers pressed in just the right spot. Lambert closed her eyes as she wilted against Ripley's body, heat rapidly dissipating in the aftermath of her anger.
Ripley kissed her just below the ear, and Lambert smiled at the chasteness of the act, her desperation dissolving into hope, untainted and pure.
S is for scissors
She wants a chance to shatter, to feel herself slipping into the million pieces she knows are inside of her.
But, she struggles to remain intact for reasons her father taught her at a young age: You do what is right no matter how difficult and you fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.
She wonders, as he is losing his own battle to stay whole, why he never applied his lessons to his professional life, if maybe he felt the effort wasn't worth it.
She wonders what is.
Given the chance, she would cut her world into easily manageable sections. She can see the scissors shaping and sculpting each little bit; she could throw away those parts she no longer needed or wanted, watch as they fell to the floor like the snow whitewashing the streets of D.C.
The metaphor stops her, if even as a passing thought, because she does not know what she would do with the president, this man she adores, this leader she serves, this husband she betrays.
Would she be selfless? Allow his existence for the betterment of the country? Or, would she slice him from history? Give into her desire for his wife?
On her good days, she knows the answer and is pleased with herself. On other days, she realizes the most devastating aspect of life is remaining true to a set of morals she did not choose for herself but from which she cannot escape.
She is bound, a prisoner to constraints she will resist but never sever, a complete being unable to separate, to fall, to erupt.
Abbey confesses as they make love. "I am not proud," she repeats, the words her mantra even as she moans when C.J.'s tongue tickles her throat. C.J. feels the vibrations settling in her chest. Abbey's name is her only response, the taste bittersweet in her mouth.
L is for liberty & justice for all
C.J. takes liberties with Abbey, her hands disappearing under couture to glide across pale skin, cold fingers warmed by the heat radiating from that which remains hidden. She kisses Abbey's neck, leaving lipstick stains behind because she cannot leave other marks, her teeth skimming Abbey's throat until the older woman almost purrs in pleasure.
They barely speak, not here, not now. Only words like "don't" and "harder" and "more" matter when they are sharing this time together. This stolen time, taken from responsibilities, from vows, from family and friends. From him.
There is a freedom in this experience, a choice neither of them remembers making, but there is also a restraint, too many things they cannot do or say or believe. They have created for themselves a prison, their bars made stronger with each embezzled moment. The consequences are severe if they are caught.
But, they are already being punished. Guilt decrees its own form of justice, condemns them to a life sentence of memories based on a regret shared by all who are bound to a complicated system of fairness.
I is for innuendo
The power of suggestion does not allow for questions. Once someone has that kind of control over you, you follow blindly, giving yourself over in the dim hope of fulfillment.
It's that thought that keeps plaguing C.J.
She uses words as substitutes, as a way to say to Abbey what she longs to say without damaging their personas.
Respect is really desire.
Admiration is really want.
Appreciate is really love.
She tells her assistant she is going to meet with the First Lady, but what she means is that she is going to fantasize.
She tells the president she has a high regard for the relationship he has with his wife, but what she means is that she envies it.
She tells herself she keeps her distance from Abbey for professional reasons, but what she means is that she is too weak to always fight temptation.
Everything she says has a sort of innuendo to it. With a tone of voice or a certain look, she can convey what she wants without disturbing the balance she has created between herself and her position.
In that, she regains control. In that, she implies exactly what she intends.
H is for heat
The sun had gone down hours ago, yet the temperature had not followed. Idgie wiped at her brow, sweat making her honeyed skin shine in the moonlight. She made her way slowly into the café, too hot to move fast. She stopped as she heard Ruth's voice, the gentle hum of a lullaby floating through the July air, soothing not only the baby in the makeshift bed at the side of the restaurant but Idgie as well. Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, Idgie smiled for the first time since she had left that morning. She watched Ruth move about the space, mixing and measuring for what Idgie thought would be a berry pie. It was a simple life, this new existence they had carved out for themselves, yet Idgie had learned not to take it for granted. Days like the one she'd had, where she had been gone for errands in the next county over, no longer suited her. She had discovered a new kind of freedom with Ruth, a new sense of self that allowed her a peace she remembered only from her early childhood.
So lost in her musings, Idgie was surprised to feel Ruth's hand on her cheek, cool and reassuring. Ruth's smile told Idgie they did not need to put voice to Idgie's thoughts, and Idgie appreciated her even more for the silent communication.
Idgie pushed a strand of unruly hair behind Ruth's ear, her fingers lingering on the soft skin of Ruth's throat, and Idgie leaned forward to press her lips to Ruth's neck, inhaling the sugary scent of Ruth's day baking.
Ruth began singing again, the sound vibrating through her into Idgie in the places they touched, and Idgie closed her eyes as Ruth's arms wrapped around her. It should have been oppressive, being so close to someone in the hot kitchen, sharing breath steamed from the oven fires, but as Idgie kissed Ruth, tasting the sweet berries Ruth had used while cooking, she shivered, the July night slipping away into a liberating future.
F is for foreplay
Ellen asks only if Patty is alone when the door opens before pushing the older woman against the wall with a rough kiss. She pulls Patty's skirt up and enters her with two fingers and no warning.
Patty is wet, has been for months waiting for this moment. It has all been foreplay. The 4 a.m. phone call. The hiring of Alex. The $3,000 bag. Patty has been seducing, enjoying Ellen's jealousy and the intimacy of the game they've been playing. It isn't until Ellen is on her knees - the very place Patty wants her - that Patty wonders who is winning.
O is for opportunity
She glances across the room at the blonde who she knows has been watching her. Blue eyes and a sweet smile, the woman could be a wonderful distraction for a few hours. Yet, she doesn't make a move and instead keeps her place leaned against the bar. She can't seem to muster the energy to overcome the melancholy that has settled inside of her since her return from Milwaukee.
She knows why, and it has to do with a blonde whose eyes are bluer and whose smile is sweeter. She sighs and pays her tab. There's no point in staying. She prefers to go home alone rather than with a substitute. If she were going to take a chance, it would be with the real thing. As she steps into the cool air, she closes her eyes for a moment, giving the semi-darkness a chance to clear her mind.
It doesn't work.
There are too many memories of almosts wandering through her thoughts. She begins walking toward her apartment when her phone rings. She answers without looking at the caller's identity, her last name sounding soft in the bustling city life around her. When the person on the other end smiles, she can hear it in every nervously-uttered word.
"Are you free? Because if you're not doing anything, I would love to have dinner with you. Maybe takeout from that Thai place around the corner from your apartment? We could rent a movie and talk." A hesitation. "I...I think we need to talk."
Despite the uneasiness, she can hear the underlining hopefulness, and she feels herself smiling in response. She quickens her pace as she says yes, the sorrow from earlier dissipating under the vigor of opportunity.
E is for ethics
Emily tries to resist touching J.J. She really does. She holds onto pens and file folders with all her might so that she cannot reach out to J.J. Yet, she has little willpower. J.J. can do nothing more than stand next to her and she finds she loses control of her hands. It takes only a second to touch the small of J.J.'s back or J.J.'s arm. Emily's fingers caress J.J.'s shoulder of their own accord. There doesn't seem to be anything Emily can do to prevent it from happening, so she makes excuses or pretends she doesn't notice. She isn't sure if J.J. realizes her dilemma, but she does know J.J. never moves away from her. And sometimes - sometimes - she swears J.J. leans into her touch. It's wishful thinking, she knows, but those thoughts keep her awake at night. She won't take the chance because she is afraid of the rejection. Still, she is tempted. She wonders if J.J. is soft everywhere, if her skin tastes of honey, if her hair feels of silk. Emily imagines a sated J.J. wrapped around her, sweat soaked and sweet smelling. These images do not haunt Emily as much as the pictures she has of them in her mind of shared mornings and Sunday afternoons. In these flashes of a life she cannot have, Emily finds a kind of painful peace, a justification for her subtle touches. It is enough to satisfy her until she is faced with J.J.'s existence once again, and then Emily is weak with the need to reach out to J.J., to cross a line put in place by friendship and workplace ethics. Despite her good intentions to be who J.J. needs her to be, Emily cannot stop her wandering hands from their destination, so she contents herself with J.J.'s apparent permission and enjoys J.J.'s attention, warm and gratifying.
C is for casual
She had Abbie pushed against the wall as soon as the door opened, her hands slipping into ink-black hair as her tongue passed through rose-red lips.
Abbie didn't struggle. Instead, she began pulling Serena's sensible shirt from her slacks and pushing the matching jacket from Serena's shoulders. The movement forced Serena to drop her arms, her fingers immediately digging into Abbie's hips as soon as the material landed at her feet.
It was always like this, whether they met for dinner first or one appeared on the other's doorstep at 2 a.m. It was a case of opposites attracting, dark and light, right and left, north and south. They fought over the issues in public just as they battled over dominance in private. It couldn't be helped. They were too different and would never work, yet they could not stay away.
Casual meetings had turned into long weekends. Days had turned into months. Now, they were bound together without the label, the next step too steep to take without consequences.
Yet, as Serena pushed Abbie onto the bed, removing both of their remaining clothing as quickly as buttons and claps could be undone, they both took a comfort in the other that spoke of breakfast in bed and anniversaries, one drinking whiskey and the other champagne.
D is for damaged
Storm liked the rain. She found the difference in raindrops comforting. There could be millions, each one unique, like snowflakes without the same sustenance. The instantaneous shattering of the liquid held together by particles upon meeting any surface fascinated her. What gave them the strength to fall from the sky? What caused the desperation to reach the earth? That invisible pull always led to their destruction.
It was in that Storm felt a connection.
She had allowed a greedy need for acceptance to determine much of her early life; in doing so, she had caused herself damage, a sort of ruin that can only be caused by a personal rush to validation.
She rarely received the prize she sought.
But then she righted herself, learned to trust the goodness inside and how her power came from that. Suddenly, she had a purpose beyond her own survival. Suddenly, she was worth more than her next mission.
It was easy to become enthralled by that knowledge.
Yet, when she met Jean Grey, she felt herself falling in a way she had never experienced. She wanted something from Jean, a torrent of somethings, and she was overwhelmed by the downpour. Still, it was what came after - after their friendship became solid, after Storm became confident in her responsibilities - that she realized what it was she had been searching for.
It wasn't the power of their attraction that washed away Storm's sins. Jean, in her constant barrage of love, gave Storm stability, her desire for understanding finally tempered by a shower of redemption, salvation cleansed one unique drop at a time.
When Storm makes it rain, Jean wants to dance in the falling drops and to taste what she cannot savor. She wants to be as wild and free as the flowers the rain makes grow. But she restrains herself. There is something in her, something which frightens her, that she must control at all times. She is not allowed the abandon of flying with the winds or directing the thunder. Storm tells her to find harmony with the power inside of her - to balance the desires of her mind with the desires of her body. Peace, Storm says, is its own form of freedom. Jean knows the truth. She will always be a prisoner. Her confinement comes from within. She wants to be the ideal of society's standards, a role made more difficult by Storm's cloud-white hair and sky-gray eyes.
Sam misses Janet at unexpected times: when in the grocery store her hand reaches for Janet's favorite coffee instead of her own; when her back hurts because she wasn't interrupted from her work; when she catches herself dialing a number no longer in service. They were never lovers, but sometimes Sam remembers them as such. She didn't realize how intertwined their lives were until they began to unravel and Sam was left alone. It was then Sam knew it was not Jack she had been waiting for all those years. It was then Sam knew she would always be waiting for what she could never have.
Ruth never wonders what her life would have been like if she had not left with Idgie. She knows there's no point in thinking of what she wouldn't change anyway. But, sometimes, when Idgie disappears for hours without so much as a goodbye, Ruth does wonder if Idgie regrets giving away a part of her freedom. Idgie, Ruth knows, is like a tall tale - constant, stimulating, and limitless. Trying to pen it down with exact words and phrases only dilutes the story. So, when Idgie returns, bringing wild flowers and honey, Ruth does not ask questions. Instead, she smiles and takes what Idgie offers, trusting that Idgie will spin a tale so funny it will hide the tears in her eyes.
They are as different as night and day, an old cliche used to describe people who are too complicated to be described otherwise. They should clash, both are too stubborn and too intelligent to be as dependent on each other as they are, but circumstances have brought them together. They rely on each other too much now, and MJ worries they've given up other obsessions for this one: they must be together. It's something MJ forgets when Helen, tall and lanky, looms over her in a way that makes the shorter woman shiver in anticipation. It is then that MJ slips into bed just as easily as dawn greets the world, slow and steady and always.
Sabrina knows Kelly is more than a pretty face. They went through training together, and Sabrina has seen Kelly defend herself against men bigger than the two of them put together. But when Kelly is in danger, Sabrina feels duty-bound to rescue her. The trouble is, with Kelly, most of the time, she cannot be saved with bullets and karate kicks. Kelly's demons are hidden inside of her, constantly struggling to be free, and Sabrina knows she cannot battle them for Kelly. She also knows she would not be strong enough to win. Kelly's past forces her to protect herself, and Sabrina is barely able to defy that personal hell while still maintaining an angel's grace, which is why Sabrina never pushes Kelly for more than what they have. She does not want Kelly to believe she is the one who actually needs rescued.
Lauren blocked out the world around her and concentrate on her patient. Kenzi wasn't the easiest person to treat; not only did she loath Lauren, for reasons the good doctor had never quite fathomed, but her personal guard scrutinised Lauren's every move with a cold eye and betrayed demeanour.
It was obvious both parties wanted a second opinion but Lauren was too tired to care. She had been painted as the bad-guy, and nothing, certainly not the truth Bo refused to hear, would change their minds. In time, they would discover their mistake, but by then it would be too late, for all of them.
The Sound of Silence
Echo's fingers feel cold on her flushed cheeks, soft on the angry scars, innocent against a face that can not allow herself such a luxury. For a moment Claire is still, caught in Echo's eyes. Echo's fingers drop to her lips, tracing the shape. Claire gasps softly. She takes a step backwards, breaking the spell. Echo leaves, her bare feet only barely audible.
Months later, Claire is doing a post-engagement exam on Echo when she notices that Echo is staring at her.
"Are you ok?" She asks gently.
Echo leans forward, her fingers finding Claire's cheek again. She pulls Claire closer.
"You think you're not real. You think I'm not real. Maybe we're the only things that are," Echo whispers, her lips brushing Claire's cheek.
Once again, the only sound is bare feet, walking away.
It all started with a kiss.
Sultry and deep, it left them breathless. Tongues sliding against each other. Lips tugging and sucking each other. Then, it grew. They became interlaced, a tangle of limbs, of hearts. Sweaty, sticky, sweet.
It was love.
Until it wasn't.
Painful and quick, it left them cut. Tognues hurling barbs at each other. Lips trembling and sulking from their anger, their sorrow. Then, it left. They became broken, ripped apart bodies, hearts. Teasing, torturous, tedious.
It was heartbreak.
It all ended with a kiss.
"Janet, I don't understand why you are being so difficult about this," Sam said in frustration.
A dark eyebrow arched. "I'm not the one being difficult. You're the one who doesn't want to follow the rules."
"No buts. You know the rules and no amount of complaining," she paused to glance at the blonde and took in her expression, "or batting those big, baby blues at me will change the rules."
Sam sighed and slowly counted out the exorbitant price of landing on Boardwalk with a hotel and handed the Monopoly money to the smug, grinning doctor.
Rachel stared across the cafeteria at Quinn. She knew that here, at school, they couldn't talk, touch or even look at each other. She knew, also, that Quinn's bitchiness was all for show. She knew that when they get home tonight, Quinn will do all in her power to make Rachel forget the words she has said. And Rachel knew she would enjoy every minute.
I Will Not Say It Out Loud (Not Yet)
Cameron has a way of making Sarah feel wanted. It is in Cameron's heated glances or her tentative touches, in her awkward smiles or her clumsy gestures - or perhaps all of the above. It sounds petty to say so, to even think so, but it is simply how Cameron makes her feel.
"Sarah, is something the matter?" Cameron asks softly, her words brushing so gently against her cheek, against the side of her nose. They are so close that Sarah's breath catches without Cameron having to do anything more than just look at her.
Sarah smiles. "Nothing." Everything's just perfect.
(Tentatively) In Love
Sarah struggles to give words to this - this strange fluttering in her stomach. It is both too much and not enough. It is a restless feeling, a heavy, overwhelming sensation and yet - yet Sarah suspects that she would break, shatter if she were to let it go, let her go. It is a slow but certain progression toward something more, something overwhelming and Sarah cannot seem to stop herself. Her eyes close as she feels more than sees the fingertips caressing her cheek, the foreign noise of a soft sigh escaping her lips and the even less familiar sensation of peace and contentment settling over her.
"I love you," Cameron whispers for the first time, eyes following the path her fingers are taking.
Sarah feels her resolve - or what has passed for resolve - finally break and she wraps her arms around Cameron, her heart beating and slowing and picking up pace in accordance to the thuds of Cameron's 'heart'. "I love you," Sarah responds, her lips a hair's breadth away from Cameron's ear and something beyond their physical bodies - because she is not quite ready to even pretend Cameron has a soul - touch for that single moment. "So, so much."
The Opposite of Hate
Blair likes it when they are pressed together like this, when they are so close that they cannot help but have their bodies merged, their breaths mingled and their heartbeats synchronised. She likes that Serena's elbows still jab into tender places even when she has explicitly warned Serena not to, that her fingers are splayed and sometimes dug into even more tender places - because it is only during these moments that Blair knows that Serena is right there next to her.
It is not yet love, but Blair will concede that they are slowly experiencing the opposite of hate.
It is only during those first few moments of partial awareness when night begins to melt into day, or perhaps during those late night hours when deliberate ignorance is (can be) considered the norm, that Blair allows herself and thus, by extension, Serena a modicum of freedom (to act, to feel).
It is only then that the things that are not said and the things that are not done become the only things that matter. Everything (and anything) is magnified, becomes overwhelming and almost suffocating - the hurts go deep inside and the flicker of otherwise (both of them refuse to name what otherwise could, should be - or what it really is) goes even deeper.
When the inky blackness of the night gives way, they fall away - as if burned, as if guilty - only to gravitate back towards each other. Then the sun rises and the cycle begins all over again.
Katherine let her head fall back against the back of the couch and spread her legs wider. She tried to remember to breathe, the more oxygen she got the better it felt. She whimpered pathetically, it was so hard to keep from going over the edge. She was so close. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Then she was gone, suspended in-between feeling everything and feeling nothing.
Katherine breathed out in half relief and half prayer, "Jesus."
A chuckle coming from in front of her made her open her heavy eyes. "Who knew you were such a screamer?"
Robin knew what she wanted and never hesitated when it came to claiming it as her own. Katherine was gorgeous, generous, funny, and most importantly she cared for Robin as a person. The red head saw her and still wanted to be with her. Katherine saw it all, the years of suffering through long nights in ankle breaking heels, the effort she was making to create a better life for herself, and she noticed Robin's feelings. Robin knew she was being manipulative, but she also knew what she wanted. She wanted Katherine and she was going to have her completely.
Ok, it counted.
She had meant it, but the moment the words left her mouth she had felt exposed. Katherine's lips curved into a nervous smile as her eyes started to water from fear. Everything was so terrifying and her heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out, to run from all of the uncertainty. Robin smiled her reassuring smile and lightly pushed the trembling red head back till she could lie down on top of her. A blush bloomed along Katherine's skin and she wasn't sure if she was blushing from arousal or embarrassment or both.
As Katherine dragged her tongue along the muscles in Robin's neck she felt a feeling of contentment fill her and excitement wriggle underneath her skin. Everything felt palpable; more real as she scrapped her polished nails along her roommate's toned abdomen. The gossiping voices of her neighbors that had been haunting from the day she moved back to Wisteria Lane disappeared from her mind. The fear of life and all that it entailed dulled into the background. All that was left was the smell of Robin's skin as she moved beneath the red head. Lust or love, it consumed her.
Rigsby bought her flowers. They were overpriced and under scented, but beautiful, in a sleek and professional kind of way. He stammered when he asked her out. Ducked his head in embarrassment when he tried to kiss her goodnight. Loved her from the very first moment.
Lisbon saved her the last of the doughnuts. Passed her a paper napkin when the jelly dribbled down her chin. She deflected every attempt to get close. Kissed her as if Armageddon was approaching. Loved her as if time had ceased to exist.
One suitor. Destined to lose. One lover. Who had already won.
Tracy wants me to pick between her and Ani. My future and my past. But, what if Ani is my future, too...the future...the one?
Ani wants me to pick between who I am and who I can be. My future and my past. But, what if who I am is all I can ever be...the only one?
The Colonel wants me to pick between being myself and being who he wants. My future and my past. But, what if he is just afraid of his own future and his own past and his own 'one' that left too soon?
Too many choices. Not enough time. Frantic and falling. Everyone leaving, like she did, like she is like she said they would so many years ago. Fuck it, little turtle!
Kate had never liked nicknames, or the familiarity they implied, but for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, she found herself smiling every time Emma called her 'Ash'. It was an obvious nickname, not the least bit clever, but it set in motion a flock of butterflies that danced across Kate's skin to settled in the pit of her stomach. The feeling, at once new and easily recognisable, was impossible to ignore, but as she returned Emma's greeting, with a nickname of her own, she tried to push the feelings aside. She had already crossed a line, and although she knew others would soon follow, for the moment she was content to bask in the glow of possibilities.
Life was good.
She had a man who adored her, a son who brightened her world, and a job where she made a difference. It was everything she'd always dreamed of but, at the same time, it was everything she'd ever feared.
Life was good.
Will tried so hard to please her but they both knew he could never make her happy, and although Henry put a smile on her lips, he couldn't stop the dreams of the life she should be living. At times, their love felt like a noose around her neck, just waiting to rip the soul from her body.
Life was hard.
She had a love she couldn't speak, a friend who could have been so much more, and a job that was nothing short of a living nightmare. It was all her fears combined but, at the same time, it was everything she'd ever dreamed.
Life was hard.
Emily tried to be her friend, but the yearning for something more always left her bitter, and although surrounding herself in Henry's warmth made her smile, it couldn't erase the bad decisions she'd made. Emily's love, though never voiced or acknowledged, was the lifeline she couldn't bring herself to grasp.
He said, She said
"Everyone is entitled to one mistake," he said, as if his call-girls and lies were one single blemish against an otherwise pristine soul. "Forgive me," he pleaded, when his arrogance could no longer blind him to my anger. "Think of the children," he begged, once he realised I was no longer his.
"Some mistakes can never be forgiven," she said, giving voice to the truth that had been eating away at my soul. "Call me," she instructed, her demand couched in a smile that made it impossible to resist. "Think of the future," she advised, once she knew that I was hers for the taking.
In Front of Their Eyes
Every time a muscle spasms, he sees deceit; a simple sideways glance, has her reading guilt. Two sets of troubled eyes, battling to be the first to see the smallest of lies, and in the process missing the truth staring them in the face. Interest, expressed with a friendly smile, friendship, wrapped in a concerned frown, and love, trumpeted with every word and deed. The two experts, one taught, the other natural, blinded by their hopes and fears of what lies behind the kindness of lonely blue eyes.
"I refuse to have sex with you on a table in my morgue!"
"Aw, come one, honey! Why not?" came the pleading response.
"Absolutely not." But the tone of voice didn't sound quite as resolute as the words.
Sounds of kissing were soon followed by some low moans.
Something clattered as it was knocked onto the floor. Soon the unmistakable sounds of two people having sex echoed through the dark cavern of the empty morgue.
Dana rolled her eyes, while Jess fought to stifle a snicker.
Only moments later the man obviously finished, though it was unclear whether the woman had. Once the couple left Jess literally doubled over laughing. She looked at Dana when she finally stopped laughing and stood up.
"Don't get any ideas," the redhead warned with an amused glint in her blue eyes.
Jess snickered. "Not to worry. I don't have any fantasies about getting it on in a morgue." She smirked. "Unless you do," she chuckled.
"Not hardly." Dana tugged on Jess's sleeve. "Come on; let's get a look at that body."
"Please, I just want to go out dancing and forget everything for a night."
Dana nodded even though Jess couldn't see her. "That sounds nice."
"Pick you up at 8:00?"
"See you then." Dana hung up the phone and smiled. A night out together was just was both she and Jess needed. And she had a surprise for the brunette.
When there was a knock on the door Dana looked out the peephole and found herself automatically smiling. She opened the door. "Come on in; I'll be ready in just a minute," she said. She then turned and walked into the living room, making sure there was just a little bit more sway to her hips than usual.
Jess almost swallowed her tongue as her eyes took in the skintight, supple, leather pants that show off her lover's perfect ass. There was a smug smirk on the redhead's lips when she returned with her jacket.
"Are you ready?"
Dana reached up and, with two fingers under Jess's chin, closed Jess's gaping mouth. "Let's go."
Jess completely forgot about the case that had been stressing her out.
T & A
"You've never seen The Devil Wears Prada?!"
"Well, why would I watch it? I couldn't care less about high fashion or fashion magazines."
"But it's got Meryl Streep."
Jess shrugged. "It's just not a movie that interests me. My taste in fashion is rather simple."
Dana turned and took in her lover's outfit for the evening. "Well, I must say, I do appreciate your sense of fashion." She walked up, slipped her arms around Jess's waist, and then slid her hands into the back pockets of the soft, leather pants. "And your choices do compliment you quite well... especially your ass," she said giving said body part a squeeze.
A dark brow arched. "So you like me just for my ass, huh?"
The redhead dropped her gaze to the form-fitting pullover Jess was wearing. "Uh... no. You definitely have other appealing... assets."
The dark brow arched even higher. "You're a tits and ass woman!"
Dana looked back up into sparkling grey eyes. "What matters is that I'm your woman."
Jess smiled. "Indeed."
They kissed deeply... and didn't make it out to the movie theater that night.
A Good Time
If the world ended right now, at least she could say that she had a good time.
Make that a great time.
"Oh, God... don't stop!"
Scratch that - the best possible time imaginable. Nothing could top what she was experiencing right now.
Oh yeah, the best time! Her smile was more than a little satisfied... and a lot pleased.
She kissed her way up her lover's body until she smiled down at the brunette, then claimed her lips in a kiss. "God, I love making you come."
Jess smiled up at Dana. "I rather enjoy it myself."
See You Tomorrow
Dana always suspected Calleigh would look like sex on toast wearing handcuffs... which was why it ticked her off that she hadn't been the one to put them on her. Only her concern for the blonde prevented her from just stopping and taking a few moments to take in the sight!
As Horatio and Det. Tripp arrested the man that had abducted Calleigh and took him outside, Dana rushed to her side and started untie the rope confining her to the chair. "Are you alright, Calleigh?"
Once free of the rope Calleigh stood, trying to stretch cramped muscles. "I'm fine, just a little stiff and sore."
Dana moved behind the blonde and took out her key to the cuffs. "I had hoped I'd be the one to put cuffs on you sometime," she said softly as she unlocked the cuffs.
As soon as her hands were freed Calleigh whipped around and gazed into the blue eyes of the doctor. "I never knew you..." Her voice trailed off as the heat in those eyes turned her insides molten. She grabbed Dana's hand and pulled her along as she turned and marched out of the house she'd been held in.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Horatio," she said as they passed the man putting the suspect into the back of a patrol car.
Horatio smiled to himself as Calleigh's Crossfire sped away. The new M.E. was definitely fitting in quite well.
Taking a deep breath, Janet started up Sam's motorcycle and pulled out onto the road. As a doctor, who'd seen too many victims of crashes, she'd never been a big fan of motorcycles. However, she had made the deal Sam.
Sam had indeed held up her end of the bargain and took the dance lessons. They had already gone out and spent the night dancing - the two-step, the waltz, the cha-cha-cha, and others. In truth, they'd been out dancing more than once already. Sam had studied hard and her natural athleticism translated to grace on the dance floor. Janet couldn't have been happier.
So, it was her turn to make good on the deal. Sam had given her everything she needed to read about the motorcycle and its operation. She gave her an in depth tutorial, going over just about every part and component. She'd set up orange cones in an empty parking lot so she could practice. Then she took and passed the test for her license.
And now, finally, she was riding Sam's motorcycle on their first two-wheel vacation. She was riding the Harley, while the blonde rode her Indian. Janet smiled to herself. It was rather exciting. Besides, she looked damn good in the leathers Sam had surprised her with, even if she did say so herself.
Sam glanced over at Janet who looked absolutely terrified and said, "Just take my hand, take a deep breath, and jump."
Janet shook her head. "I don't know if I can do this, Sam."
"Sure you can. We'll do it together."
The brunette took another look and felt her stomach do a flip-flop.
"Come on, Janet, this was your idea."
Janet scowled at her lover. She didn't need to be reminded of that fact.
"You did make me promise not let you chicken out."
"I know I did," she said with a sigh.
Sam held her hand out and waited for the doctor to take it. She then kissed Janet. "Happy Birthday, love."
With Sam's in hers, closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer, Janet jumped out of the plane.
On the ground Janet was grinning and bouncing up and down on her feet as Sam helped her out of her chute. "That's was fantastic! Can we go again?"
Sam simply laughed.
Do You Like Your Surprise?
Dana stood on the beach letting the warm sand sift between her toes, watching the sun set slowly on the horizon. It was absolutely beautiful - shades of pink, orange, and red melding, then shifting into shades of blue, lavender and indigo.
With a final, slow, deep breath, Dana turned to head back to the bungalow. Jess had told her to go out onto the beach and not come back in until after the sun was completely set.
Dana stepped up onto the small porch and brushed the sand off of her feet. She opened the door... and stepped into a scene from her dreams.
The one room bungalow was bathed in the soft light of over a dozen candles. There were tropical flower petals strewn around the floor and on the bed. An opened bottle of wine and two wineglasses were on the nightstand. And her lover, Jess, was kneeling on the bed, wearing a white lace teddy.
Dana felt her mouth go dry. She couldn't speak, and she was anchored to the spot, unable to move... until Jess spoke.
"Do you like your surprise?" Jess asked softly.
"Oh, yes." Dana moved to the side of the bed. She reached out and tenderly cupped Jess's cheek as she gazed into her sparkling grey eyes. "You are so beautiful." She actually felt the brunette's blush against the palm of her hand. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"
Jess placed her hand over the one on her cheek. She gazed into sapphire blue. "You loved me."
Their lips met in a soft kiss as Jess laid down, pulling her lover with her.
Dana sat at the bar staring at her drink and wondering why she was there at all. Yes, her skills as a pathologist had helped crack the case. Yes, she was invited to work on the case in the field. And, yes, she had helped to catch the suspect. But she just didn't feel the same level of revelry the other agents did. She didn't feel the urge to party.
What she did feel was lonely. She missed Jess. Her lover had been out of town on a case for the past two weeks. And their separate workloads had kept them from having much private time together for the two weeks before that. Dana sighed as the sounds of celebration went on around her, without her participation or interest.
Suddenly, there was a body pressed against her back and knowing hands rested on her waist. "Why so melancholy, Agent Scully?" lips whispered against her ear, sending chills down her spine. Her body always reacted to her lover's touch, her voice, her mere presence.
"Jess." She had to swallow to ease the stricture of her suddenly tight throat. A tremor ran through her body. "God, I've missed you."
Jess nuzzled behind Dana's ear. "Should we join in the party?" She paused for a couple of beats. "Or go have a quiet celebration of our own?"
Dana gasped as one the hands on her waist surreptitiously slid down and caressed the top of her thigh. "L-let's go." She immediately felt bereft at the sudden absence of her lover's touch and body heat. She turned on the bar stool and felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Jess - the look in her eyes.
Jess took her hand and smiled. "Come on, Dana, let's get out of here."
Dana returned her smile. They couldn't leave quick enough to begin their private celebration.
A small smile was the only indication she gave that she heard the teasing remark and liked it. After all, they were at work and there were students present. It wouldn't do to have her students see her suddenly break out into a wide smile - she had a reputation to uphold.
Dana's eyes met the other woman's eyes, humor still shining in them. But then sparkling grey turned into fathomless black. Dana felt as if she couldn't breathe because of what she saw in them. Damn it, that wasn't fair! She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath. When she opened them again, Jess was gone, having left Dana with her classroom of FBI academy cadets taking a test.
She shook her head and turned to see a raised hand. "Yes?"
"I have a question about number eight."
The redhead gracefully moved up the rows to see speak privately with the cadet. She then returned to her place at the front of the class... and spent the rest of the class time plotting a way to torture Jess that night at home. She may not have noticed the smile she sported, but her student did.
Dana stood silent and tense, her back to her lover, only the trembling of her shoulders as she took a shaky breath indicating her emotions, though Jess could feel the hurt and anger rolling off the redhead in waves.
Without turning, Dana held up a hand, cutting off whatever her lover was going to say. She was too vulnerable, too exposed. She couldn't handle understanding from Jess, much less comfort... not yet.
Jess's own blood was beginning to boil. She couldn't bear to see Dana hurt like this. The son of a bitch was going to pay when she got her hands on him. Despite her lover's withdrawal, she couldn't hold back when a quiet sob broke through her control. Jess physically turned Dana around and wrapped her in her arms.
Dana fought against the woman trying to hold her at first. Her control was shattering, the sharp edges inflicting emotional wounds. But Jess didn't let her pull away. Slowly, eventually, Dana's went around the brunette's waist and she gave in. She cried and raged, her lover taking her pain and anger like rocks take waves - solid, strong, never moving, breaking the waves and sending them back into the ocean. Jess was her rock.
Paid in Full
Her Air Force training required that she be able to survive under any wilderness conditions which included finding shelter, warmth, and sustenance. What she didn't realize was that her medical skills would require that same resourcefulness.
She looked at her prospective patient, torn between laughter and revulsion. "What is it?"
"It's just a baby!" Sam replied.
"But a baby what?"
It looked like a cross between a miniature flying dragon and brown rat.
"I don't know, Janet, but it's hurt. You've got to help it."
The men of SG-1 could no longer contain their laughter. Jack and Daniel were both bent over holding their stomachs they were laughing so hard, and even Teal'c was smiling - widely - and let out a chuckle.
But it was the pleading look in big, blue eyes that made her give in. She could never say no those cerulean, puppy dog eyes. Janet eyed the creature in Sam's hands with misgiving, but also with compassion.
"Alright, Sam. Bring it to our tent."
The bright grin she received was payment enough for services rendered.
Thanks to Heimdall
Sam looked at Janet with confusion in her eyes. She'd heard the words, but they just didn't register.
Janet smiled. "And here I thought I was rather clear." She was amused by the flummoxed woman. "Sam, I can't say it any plainer."
Still, the blonde looked at her with a complete lack of comprehension.
Janet placed a crooked knuckle under Sam's chin and physically closed her gaping mouth.
Finally some small part of Sam's intellect seemed to kick in. "You're sure?"
"I am a doctor, you know."
"So Heimdall did it."
Janet nodded. "Yep. I'm pregnant with our daughter."
The doctor chuckled. "No Y chromosome, hon. Just your genes and mine, so yes, our daughter."
A wide smile spread across Sam's face. She stood and threw her arms around Janet, picking her up and spinning her around.
That's No Excuse
"He just didn't know better."
"That's no excuse! You promised me-"
"I know, Janet. It's my fault. I didn't make sure the door was closed. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry is not going to fix this."
"I'll buy you a new one."
"That's not the point. You can't just replace Mr. Mittens."
Sam looked at the old, well-worn, threadbare, raggedy teddy bear. She picked up Schrödinger II and carried the kitten out their bedroom. "Come on, Schrödinger, you can keep me company on the couch tonight," she said softly.
It was going to take some time and a lot of sucking up to make up for the destruction of Janet's favorite childhood possession.
A World of Understanding
You cannot spend your days sifting through the worst that humanity has to offer without it staining your soul. It's the reason so many cops end their days with alcohol drenched livers and a litany of broken marriages. I've woken up more times than I'd like to admit, with the stench of alcohol on my breath and a naked stranger in my bed. It's not that I'm a drunk, or even promiscuous, but when the dark shadows start to crowd my mind, the only way to drown them out is to immerse myself in ice cold Vodka and easy women.
But when the days are really bad, and the screams of the dead coalesce into a white noise of pain behind my eyes, not even the prospect of oblivion can calm my demons. It's then that I seek her out; her welcoming arms holding me as I let the tears fall and the monsters terrorise my mind, before her simple words of love and life, spoken with such naked enthusiasm, banish the darkness from the surface of my soul.
She is the keeper of the cyberworld's secrets and, on those lonely nights, she becomes the keeper of mine. No oblivion. No alcohol soaked nightmares. Just Penelope, and her world of understanding.
No Escape Plan
If this were a normal situation, Pepa's survival instinct or sense of self-preservation should have kicked in ages ago (like with all her ex-lovers). But this is no normal situation (because in a normal situation, you do not lock yourself and your older brother's sister-in-law in the aforementioned older brother's bathroom with the aforementioned sister-in-law, pressed up against her skin to skin, breaths marking each other just as well as nails and tongues can). It has taken Pepa over a decade to realise that when it comes to Silvia, 'normal' does not apply and there really is no escape plan.
Memories of Summer
We steal kisses under the cover of summer and run fingers that feel too thick, too clumsy over skin slick with sweat. Our lips slip and trip across and over pounding heartbeats given form. I swallow my doubts and yours; and twist them into something better, like melting chocolate: fleeting and hot and sweet. Our touches are hesitant, not nearly as innocent, as we make the awkward transition from childhood into something beyond, but just a few steps short of adulthood.
When summer ends and we head back, please do not tell me this is another fling to be forgotten.
Blair always feels somewhat plain standing next to Serena. It is nothing like an inferiority complex (and the psychiatrist she pays $500 an hour just so she can tell her that can shove it for all she cares), it is simple truth.
"Hello, beautiful," Serena whispers, wrapping her arms around Blair's waist and dropping a kiss onto her exposed shoulder.
Blair tilts her head slightly to the side to consider their melded reflections. She stands corrected (even if a Waldorf is always correct, but a van der Woodsen has ways of upsetting that golden rule). With the distance between their two bodies (their two hearts, their two souls) practically negligible, Blair does not really feel too plain (but she will never say that out loud, not even under the pain of having a limited edition pair of Louboutins thrown at her, heels first). Squeezing Serena's hands (which are not restless for once) in her own smaller ones, she replies in a whisper (because Serena is a romantic and she maintains a whisper must be answered with a whisper - and Blair is much too obliging when it comes to her), "Hello, yourself."
Quite the contrary, she feels ... plain perfect.
Let's Go Crazy Together
Serena tasted salt on Blair's eyelids and smeared strawberry on her lips. She felt trembling fingers and pressed her lips reverently against the tips of each one. It was like a ceremony, or a ritual of some sort. Except there were no words exchanged (unless you would count the sniffles of ebbing tears) and the only communication was tactile in nature. Also, Serena was pretty sure no ceremony would be conducted in a bathroom, much less right next to the toilet.
"Blair," Serena whispered, trailing her fingertips across pale skin.
"I feel like I'm going crazy," Blair replied back shakily, glazed eyes fixed on a spot just above Serena's left shoulder. "My whole world's coming undone."
"Blair," she repeated, cupping Blair's face and bringing her close.
"I'm going crazy," Blair insisted, now staring into Serena's eyes. Not that she could avoid it; Serena had brought their foreheads together.
"Then let's go crazy together," Serena offered.
Blair pursed her lips at that and looked, for a split second, as if she was going to literally smack some sense into Serena. Then she sighed and declared, "You're crazy."
"There's no helping it," Serena countered, grinning, "We'll just have to be crazy together."
Gin On Your Lips, Love On Mine
I love you best when your mouth opens in a silent scream, when your toes curl just so, when your nails dig into the curve of my back. For it is only during the moment of climax that the rest of the world ceases to matter to you, that only my voice resounds in you, that only my touch grounds you, that I become your most vivid sensation, but will you tell me "I love you" if we were not on another hotel bed, if I could not taste gin on your lips?
"Let's get you cleaned up, Blair."
Let's Go Crazy Together
I think yesterday is a good colour on you. The warmth of an already bygone sun is a beautiful addition to the perpetual pink tint of your cheeks. I savour the smell of yesterday in your hair. It is fresh in a way today can never be. The taste of memories is intoxicating on your lips. The past is always beautiful when viewed through the lens of today.
The Serena of yesterday is always the most beautiful to me, for I know what she has done, for I am aware of what she has said. The Serena of yesterday is a predictable occurrence and it is always a welcome thing that this perfect Serena in my mind is not and cannot be the one that makes my heart skip a beat in a messy rhythm. I understand the Serena of yesterday and therefore she, not you, is the ideal Serena.
You Are My Favourite Distraction
I want to tell you that this is nothing but a little game that we are playing, that every moan that slips from your lips is another one for me on an imaginary scoreboard, that every mark on you is nothing but badges of defeat.
I so want to tell you this is a game, but I so enjoy the way your voice drops to a whisper whenever I lean in, the way your eyes flutter and your breath hitches as I trail my fingers across pale skin.
The game can go on for a little longer.
Calm Before the Storm
She lays beside me, naked and waiting, wanting my touch alone. My beautiful dark beauty with the flashing eyes and legs that go on forever. Whatever I did to deserve this, thank you.
I slowly tug the thin sheet lower, revealing more pale skin, the twitching muscles of her stomach, the jutting angles of her hips, the narrowing of her ankles. All mine, freely given and lovingly cherished. I dip my head to worship her, to taste her lips and whisper my devotion. Our eyes lock and I see the desire raging there barely contained.
"I love you Jaime..." I murmur against her soft skin and wait for the storm to overtake us.
Truth or Dare
Jenny spins wide- pushing, poking, provoking...
For all her wanting, the acceptance of the dare was a shock.
Hands in the Dark
Her hands are rough. She's not a hand lotion kind of girl.
For the first time, you're truly naked.
You feel yourself start to tremble, so you look away, pretending that a tear isn't making its way from under your mascara-heavy lashes.
"Jenny..." her voice is soft and simple, worlds away from Marina's throaty accent.
You slowly open your eyes, mascara running wild. Her lip curls in a half smile.
You manage to return the smile. Pressing yourself against her, you surrender. You match the pattern of her breathing as her strong hands hold you against her.
The Puzzle He Never Solved
He always wanted to know how she was damaged. He probed her constantly, obsessed by the puzzle. Then he found Thirteen, and she was just a toy he'd lost interest in.
He needn't have tried so hard, the answer was simple enough. She needed people to want her. She clung to anyone who called her beautiful, she was hopelessly drawn to men that lusted after her, and addicted to people that depended on her. She even craved the man who was so fixated on her secrets. The dying lover. The infatuated school boy. The grieving doctor. The obsessive genius. Their need for her was a drug that coursed through her blood.
She had thought the other secret didn't really matter. The secret that not one of them did she desire as a lover. Cameron enjoyed sex, of course. It was simple and clean- arousal, chemicals, and release. Just not passion.
It wasn't until she laid eyes on the new puzzle she thought was her replacement that she realized her error. When she looked at Thirteen, she felt lust, desire and passion. She wanted more than the hollow drug of adoration and need. She wanted the girl with sad eyes and the beautiful smile. It was quite simple really.
When Natalia went to the spa she took her closet with her - literally. But she's back from the spa now and she's still carting it around, metaphorically this time. It's with her everywhere she goes. It's in the tension of her muscles when Olivia strolls beside her, in the thundering of her heart when strangers look at them twice in the street. It's in the sweat on her palms as Olivia reaches out to take her hand.
"You can have my love or your shame," Olivia whispers. "Not both."
When Natalia's fingers squeeze hers tighter, Olivia knows what she's chosen.
She's not used to leaning down to kiss someone. Every lover before this has been taller, broader, stronger, and she's had to lean up to them, she's had to submit. But she was always in control. She's Olivia Spencer - the man-eater of Springfield, the manipulator, the calculator.
She should be in control now. She's taller, stronger, older, more experienced, more worldly than the slight woman in her arms. And yet, as she looks into brown eyes shaded dark with blended love and lust, she realises she has never been so controlled in her life.
Surprisingly, she rather likes it.
He keeps smirking at me. It started when Van Pelt and Rigsby entered the room and, no matter how much I glare, he won't stop. I know what he's thinking. You don't have to be a mind reader to see the innuendo dancing behind his eyes. One look, that was all it took, and my secret longing was a secret no longer.
God, I hate him sometimes.
He'll say something, of that I'm sure, but he'll wait until we're alone. He might be insufferable, but he's become a good friend, and he wouldn't embarrass me like that in front of my team. But, if he uses his voodoo voice, and tells me to buy Grace roses, I might just have to shoot him on principle.
The smirk falls from Jane's lips and, for just a moment, I think he's turned his thoughts to another, but then he leans in to whisper in my ear, "She prefers lilies."
God, I really hate him sometimes.
We came here to say goodbye.
The memories of lives just beginning, blur into the realities of what we left behind. Friendships, so intrinsic, washed away on the tide of years passing. Her reluctant smile, once so real, is transformed into the echo of a daydream, that plagues my perfect life with the ache of what should have been.
As the bulldozers march on Eastland, I look over at her weary face, and wonder what happened to the rebel I once knew. She is a stranger to me know, and with that realisation, I come to understand that it is not these old building to which I owe a farewell, but to Jo and the life we couldn't allowed ourselves to have.
My Hand in Yours
She took my hand. Right there, in front of everyone, she reached down and clasped my hand in hers, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if we'd been holding hands all our lives.
It was then that I looked at them; Sullivan, Gillepsie and the others, waiting for the comments and raised brows, but there was nothing. No shock, no outrage, not even a hint of prurient interest. As if... As if it's the most natural thing in the world for Scribbs to take my hand.
And, maybe it is.
A New Experience
The Doctor peered up from between Martha's thighs, a quizzical look plastered on her pretty face. "I didn't know humans could make that sound," she mused.
Martha was too busy trying to catch her breath to comment. She'd known travelling with the new and, it now appeared, improved Doctor would be a little different, but this was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. "Are you sure you've never done that before?"
"A totally new experience." The Doctor's smile was blinding in its intensity; the thrill of discovery written clearly across her face. "Can I do it again?"
"Yes!" Under normal circumstance, Martha would have been embarrassed by her enthusiasm, but she was far too busy welcoming the Doctor's explorations to worry about such things. "A little to the... Oh!"
"Yeah, I'm coming." Sabrina yawned, exhaustedly answering the pestering knock that had woken her.
She froze. Kelly. At her door. At three in the morning. Looking frazzled.
Before she could raise one of the many obvious questions that sprang to mind, Kelly grabbed her hand and shoved a card into it. "Read it." She commanded, bringing her hands together, impatiently awaiting compliance.
The phrase 'captive audience' seemed oddly appropriate. Despite her confusion, Sabrina obliged and looked down at the card. A Valentine's card. With hearts on it. And 'I love you' written inside. "Uh...why—what?" she stammered, uncharacteristically lacking in verbosity.
"You're so dense sometimes." Kelly sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Jill said I should draw you a diagram, but I can't draw, so..."
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Sabrina's eyes widened. "Oh, so those flowers—?"
"And that note—?"
"Yes!" Kelly asserted in exasperation.
"Oh..." Sabrina trailed off, glancing down, toying with the card. Silence ensued. Awkward. Unexpected. "Well, um, thanks, I guess. See you at work."
"Wait, what? But—" The door swung shut.
"Ouch." Jill winced, coming over to comfort her stunned co-worker. "Well, there's always next year."
Kelly hung her head.
"Why did I let you talk me into this? Didn't I tell you how much I hate skiing? I'm from the Bronx. The Bronx and schussing don't mix."
"Oh, come on. Skiing has everything you like: speed, danger, the possibility that you'll see me fall flat on my face."
"True; that's all to the good. But I'm not so fond of heights. And what's with this chairlift? Why aren't we moving?"
"It happens. Just be patient."
"Patient? I'm freezing."
"It's your own fault. Young Diablo's gang jackets aren't exactly appropriate slope attire."
"Well, sorry Miss Annie Alps, some of us can't spend a fortune on specially imported Swedish down outfits, some of us ....
"So I'll share." Blair unzipped her parka and gestured. "Come here."
"No. Body heat, a well known survival technique."
Jo raised her eyebrows. She scooted over and pressed herself next to her chair mate. "Did I tell you how much I love skiing?"
You catch the train as it's pulling out of the station - late as usual and completely scattered. The porter smiles knowingly and helps you toss your duffel into the open doorway. You climb on board as the train gathers speed, tossing a wave over your shoulder.
You're getting the hell out of dodge.
The train picks up speed and before you know it, you're rocketing through the night as the landscape disappears in your window; as she filters in and out of your dreams.
You had to leave her behind, for her own good and for yours. You had to leave her behind with your memories because you've never been one to sit still and pine after what you had and lost.
The phone in your hand rings again and again and again with her name on the caller ID and after she calls the fifth time - after the woman across the aisle gives you another dirty look, you shut the phone off and tuck it away where you won't be tempted to reach for it again.
And she calls and she calls, but she just doesn't understand.
There's really no way to reach you. Not if she has him.
"Scribbs, we cannot possibly keep a dog!"
Ash stared at her blonde partner, unable to believe what Scribbs had suggested. They were already undercover, in the middle of a serial murder investigation, hip-deep in suspects . . . and Emma wanted to adopt a stray they'd found nosing the bins?
"But Ash, look at him!" Scribbs cuddled the wiggly fluffball in her lap, grinning as the puppy licked her chin. The brunette fought off a smile. Granted, he was cute - some small breed, with silky, smoke-and-cream fur. And he did seem to adore a certain DS, judging by his swishing tail. They were certainly an adorable picture together. Still, there were rules to consider, complications -
Twin pairs of pleading hazel eyes fixed on her, and Ash found her resolve crumbling under such sweetness. Heaving a sigh, she dropped to the couch beside her partner. "Fine. We can keep him - "
" - but only because your cover is supposed to love animals." Kate tried to stay serious. "And I expect you to train him. If he has any accidents, Scribbs, I'm warning you - "
"He won't." Scribbs flung an arm around the other woman's shoulders, hugging her with the puppy balanced between them. "Oh, Ash, you're the best!" She beamed down at the little mutt, oblivious to her partner's sudden flush. "Isn't she tops, Bandit?"
"Bandit?" Ash echoed, blinking. The pup yipped, and she groaned. "Two coppers and a dog named Bandit."
Silvia walked through the quiet apartment, thinking about the extraordinary changes that her life had undergone in the past five years.
Meeting Pepa again and falling in love with the woman that she had become. Moving in together, and then their awful argument and the break-up that had led to Pepa returning to Seville.
At the last doorway in the hall she paused, examining the partially closed door. Slowly she pushed it open, waiting as her eyes adjusted to the room's low lighting. The memories kept coming.
Paco telling her of Pepa's hospitalisation after an arrest had gone horribly wrong. The passionate reunion. Their chaotic wedding. And now....
Adoringly, Silvia contemplated the breathtaking picture of Pepa nursing their daughter. Her wife, their daughter, her family. It had a nice symmetry to it, Silvia thought.
Noiselessly, so as not to disturb the baby, Silvia knelt in front of Pepa. Alanze was suckling quietly, eyes closed in sleepy contentment. Silvia stroked her soft, dark hair and then brought Pepa's free hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. Their eyes met.
"Everything okay Princess?" Pepa asked.
"Yes, my love," Silvia replied, "You are here with me, how can it not be?"
Why does she keep coming after me? Why can't she just let me go? It's probably the second or third time that Xena's found herself facing certain death and yet there's Gabrielle, arguing with the warlord of the week, trying to win her friend's freedom.
It won't work, but Xena can't help but be impressed by the would-be bard's rhetoric.
"If you kill her now, who are you going to compare yourself to when you're telling stories for ales at the local warlord's watering hole?" is Gabrielle's latest query, which is met with a blank-eyed stare and then laughter from the warlord in question.
"Why, me of course!"
Gabrielle snorts. "You? Please, I could kick your ass. The only reason you have Xena right now is you cheated."
The warlord's face darkens, and for an instant, Xena feels the glacial hand of fear stretch its fingers through her chest. But then, something miraculous happens.
The warlord's men begin to grumble. Finally one stands up and says, "The girl's right, Andrus. Beat the bitch fair and square or you ain't worth the clipped coppers you paid us."
Well I'll be a blue-eared donkey! Xena knows that the warlord will have to fight her again, and this time, no matter what, she's going to kick his ass. Shooting a glance at her companion, she tries once more to fathom why Gabrielle would risk so much for her, and then, she sees it.
The young woman's eyes radiate her relief even as she opens her mouth to add to Andrus' troubles.
Better put a purple nose on that donkey, because I think someone loves me. Damn. Guess I'm just gonna have to get used to seeing her pretty face every day.
If there was anything Gabrielle hated more than rainy days, it was the days when the sun was so bright it felt like she was walking through the heart of a candle flame. Shading her eyes against the light, she peered ahead, just able to make out the hazy form of her companion.
Argo needs to run, my ass, thought the bard as she gave a surly harrumph. Xena needs to go pick a fight is more like it.
Coming from a small town where the biggest entertainment was the annual sheep shearing, Gabrielle easily recognized boredom.
Why can't she just pick flowers like the rest of us? I am so not in the mood to scrub brigand blood out of my bodice tonight. Sighing heavily as the distant ululation of Xena's war cry trickled back to her, Gabrielle unsheathed her sai and started to run toward the fray.
Oh well, I guess it's time to do the laundry.
Flowers? No. Candy? No. Damn, what the hell do you get a surly ex cop who you've managed to piss off every which way from Sunday when all you really want to do is go home and ravish her silly? Perusing the wares at the all night stop 'n rob, Elizabeth's gaze flicked about until she settled upon a wind up toy in the shape of an anatomically correct heart. It was all that remained of a picked over Valentine's display.
Pursing her lips, she gave the winder a few twists and let it go. A ratcheting sound that she supposed was meant to mimic a true heartbeat rattled the bright red plastic for a few seconds, and then it shuddered once, stopped and cracked open to reveal a tiny golden key strung on a chain.
"Oh God, how fucking cute is that?" she muttered as she grabbed the toy and headed for the counter.
The clerk, bored near to mummification, snapped to attention when he saw his customer's choice.
"Very good, ma'am," he said, his thick accent putting Elizabeth in mind of spicy curry and strong tea. "Would you like the box?" He held one up as an example. The colors of the cheap packaging were garish enough to make Elizabeth wish she'd remembered her sunglasses.
"Sure. And you'd better give me a couple of roses too." She hung her head and sighed. "I really gotta learn to pay more attention to the date."
"Is she humming?" Derek Morgan scrunched up as close to Spencer Reid as he could get, and spoke in a tone that was a hair above silence. Prodding his colleague's shoulder, he nodded in the direction of the dark haired woman hunched in the seat across the aisle from them. Sprawled on her lap, Agent Jennifer Jareau's bruised face was finally relaxed in sleep.
Cocking his head slightly, Reid struggled to hear above the dull thrum of jet engines.
"I think so," he finally said, his face screwing up in concentration.
"You think we should wake them?" David Rossi joined the conversation, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his lips.
"Oh no," Morgan said, holding up his hands. "I am not going to be the one to wake either of them after they've just spent the last five days in the company of one sick son of a bitch. Let them have some peace."
"Aw, where's your sense of adventure?" the older agent said, mischief stripping years from his face.
"Right now? It's about two hundred miles, five sleepless nights, and one seriously messed up serial killer back that way," replied Morgan softly as he jerked his thumb in a vaguely southern direction.
All three men's faces lost any hue of amusement as they recalled the events of the past week. Within the sudden quiet, Emily's humming resolved itself into a lullaby that soon had everyone blinking and yawning sleepily. A few minutes later, soft snores filled the cabin.
Fierce hands gripped her shoulders as she watched the readouts displayed on the Astrometrics board.
"Is that for real?" came the whispered query. Ragged, and lost, the words barely seemed to ruffle the air around Seven of Nine's body.
"Indeed," she replied, pulling away from Lieutenant Torres' clutching hands. "It appears that we have found a wormhole to the Alpha Quadrant."
The news spread throughout Voyager in a matter of minutes. Even before Seven had compiled the data into a logistically accurate and factually efficient report, the entirety of the ship's command crew were cluttering up her lab. Pushing aside the entirely too human desire to roll her eyes, Seven of Nine calmly said, "It is unknown whether this wormhole is stable enough to allow Voyager to traverse it."
Captain Janeway smiled, even as the others started to complain. "Then you'd better get started on finding out if we can use it, because by God, I mean to see us home."
Perplexed, Seven looked first at her captain and then at B'Elanna. With a frown furrowing her brow, the former Borg quietly said, "I was unaware that home was someplace other than where you are loved."
An odd look of sadness crossed Janeway's face before she replied, "For the lucky ones, Seven. Only for the lucky ones." Then she turned away, unable to watch as Seven and B'Elanna bent their heads together and headed for engineering, already working out the programming for the first of ten probes. Soon, the others drifted away, leaving only Ensign Kim, who was far too lost in his own dreams of home, and Chakotay, to share the view with the captain.
Blood pumps from the demon like the bellows of a blacksmith's forge, yet it refuses to die. Shivering in the chill, Buffy watches as Faith circles the colossus that calls itself a minion to the latest Big Bad Scary Evil Mastermind to infest itself upon the world.
"Yo, tall, dark, and nasty - you just gonna stand there like a lump or what?" Faith twirls her sword lazily and the creature snarls, but doesn't attack. It's already learned a painful lesson about the skills of the slayers.
Buffy sighs. Faith seems bent on taunting the creature to death but the blonde slayer has other ideas.
"Faith, just kill the damned thing. My ass is about to turn into an icicle."
Faith smirks, shrugs nonchalantly, and then turns a rather evil grin on the creature. "You heard the lady, ugly man. It's time to die. Y'see, I'm rather fond of that ass."
As they limp away from the warehouse, Faith drapes her jacket over Buffy's shoulders.
"This would be a whole lot more chivalrous without the slime," Buffy grouses softly, even as she draws the warm leather close.
Chuckling, Faith says, "Hey, love me, love my slime."
"Ew. Not. There will be showers, and maybe even showers on top of showers before I even think about going there, Faith."
"Aw, don't you like my snail impersonation, B?"
Earth recedes. The great blue marble that hovers between Venus and Mars soon fades. Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter exhales softly, her breath clouding the porthole. It's always like this. Leaving home to face the mighty hoards of Goa'uld, Ori, Replicators, or whatever other evil the universe breeds, always gives Sam one precious moment to look upon the world of her birth.
Some days, she wonders if she could do it alone. If she could wake every morning in an empty home and face the hoards of evil that hid behind every star. Many members of the various SG teams prefer the single life, but Sam can't imagine not having something to defend.
Closing her eyes, Sam recalls sunlight on thick, ruddy hair. Stray grays peek out, colored silver by the warm, bright light.
Birds piping the call of spring, the faint hint of burnt toast from Cassie's hurried breakfast, and the bitter aftertaste of sleep commingle in the astrophysicist's memory. The alarm clicks on, spewing out an unholy ruckus of sound.
The blankets rustle and then, a heavy, sleep riddled voice groans, "Oh God, make it stop."
Laughing, Sam reaches over Janet's shoulders and taps a button, killing the noise.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?" Janet rolls over and blinks wearily at Sam.
Sam's smile only grows wider. "I think so."
"Oh good. Now, c'mere and kiss me goodbye sailor."
"That's flyboy to you, woman," Sam replies in a half insulted, half amused tone.
"Yo, Earth to Carter! Are you ready or am I supposed to figure out how to blow this rock on my own?" Mitchell's voice cuts through the static of memory and Sam pushes away from the window.
Shouldering her pack, she shouts, "Keep your pants on, Cam! I'm ready." Stepping up beside Mitchell, Vala and Jackson, Carter grins. "Let's go make space dust."
The road rolls in an ever expanding ribbon of black as Chicago vanishes behind them.
Every yesterday's yesterday is left in that cold, crazy city. Ahead, lays heat, light, and Miami sun.
Beside her, hope, promise, and the future flourish in the warm smile curving a shapely mouth.
In the backseat, Henry chuckles at Courtney's latest animal mimicry and even Kerry has to laugh at her lover's less than perfect rendition of a hungry bear.
And Now For Something Really Different
Out of all the people to give her even a slight glimmer of hope, Roxie was certain that Velma would probably be the least likely person in the entire world. So when she saw her standing in the back of the club, watching the audition that had failed miserably, all she could do was put on a strong front and use the last amount of her hope to hope that her façade wouldn't waver.
And then Velma had offered her the opportunity to dance with her. Velma Kelly. The Velma Kelly. While she knew she was rather a washed up star at this point, the stint in jail having done nothing for her career in the end, she'd still been famous once, and that had to count for something.
Roxie let herself hope, she let that small light glimmer inside her for one brief moment. Velma wanted her for an act. Even though she hated the other woman with a passion, she still had to admit she would always be at least a little star struck. Not to mention the fact that the dark-haired woman was just all around stunning.
But she'd made herself reject it because there was just no way they'd be able to work together. She couldn't let that hope last. It'd only make the crash back to earth hurt that much more.
Yet somehow, Velma's velvety voice had drifted back to her ears. And the hate didn't matter. And the hope swelled in her chest as she met the dark eyes. And she saw that same fire there that she saw in herself. They'd be good together.
Fearing the Darkness
She'd killed herself in front of them. Gwen had seen it with her own eyes.
But by then, she'd already set the plan in motion. She'd be back. Through a set of intricate riddles, she'd be back.
And she did come back, full force. In all her beauty, in all her spite, in all her rage, she'd come back.
And it was Gwen's turn to feel the darkness, the pain, the warm blood seeping over her rapidly chilling body.
And when the team got there to rescue her, she saw the fear in Suzie's eyes and a part of her, no matter how small, felt bad. Because this woman so intelligent, so strong, was afraid of the darkness waiting on the other side.
The thong belonged to Lisa Cuddy.
As Amber snatched it off the table, she wondered if Taub had figured that fact out when he'd agreed to the deal.
She didn't think so. All she could do was hope that no one else had.
If House had believed her, she certainly wouldn't have been lying. He just said to get Cuddy's thong. He didn't specify that she had to be the one wearing it...
Same Shit, Different Bar
"Pookie!" Maureen cooed.
"Maureen, I'm warning you!"
"Maureen!" Joanne hissed. "We are in a public place, you are drunk, and I have more dignity than that."
Maureen giggled. "That's not what you said last week when I took you in the bathroom at the Life Café!"
"Shh!" Joanne snarled. "Keep your voice down!"
Maureen pouted. "I just wanna get laid!"
"Is that all you ever think about?"
"I'm either thinking about you, sex, or both."
"When are you thinking about sex without me involved? You better not be thinking about sex with other people!"
Maureen rolled her eyes and hopped off the barstool. "Fine. No sex. Whatever."
She stormed out of the bar, leaving Joanne to pay.
"Same shit, different bar." Joanne muttered to herself as she followed Maureen.
Hold Your Breath
"Suck it in!" Arwen groaned, tugging tighter on the corset strings.
"I AM!" Eowyn shouted.
Arwen gave another sharp tug and Eowyn fell against the wall.
"Kings of old! Must you pull so tight?"
"That's the point of a corset, melamin."
"I didn't wish to wear one in the first place."
Arwen tugged at the final string and pulled it tight. "But melamin, you look so beautiful."
"Well I can't breathe!"
"Yes but look at your breasts." Arwen wrapped her arms around Eowyn's waist, resting her head on her shoulder.
"I just hope your father likes me."
"He will." Arwen kissed her on the cheek. "Because he'll see how much I love you."
Candlelight and Kisses
Their eyes met over wineglasses and candlelight; sapphire blue and chocolate brown.
When Dana invited her to dinner Monica hadn't expected a romantic candlelit affair. She was surprised, but pleased. She'd been patient, not pushing, simply letting the redhead know she would always be there for her as a friend. The 'something more than friends' was never explicitly expressed, but it was present.
Dana had agonized over her decision. Monica was always there for her, no questions asked. Quiet, supportive, thoughtful. The brunette had won Dana's heart. But the question was: Did Monica want her heart? Dana suspected she did, but she wasn't sure. The warm smile that appeared on the brunette's face when she took in the dinner setting answered that question.
Dana raised her napkin from her lap, lightly dabbing her lips and then wiping her hands. She stood and moved to stand near Monica's chair.
Monica looked up at the redhead. "Yes?"
Dana sat down on Monica's lap and took her face in both her hands. She began to lower her mouth to claim Monica's full lips.
"Are you sure, Dana?" Monica asked softly.
"I've never been more sure."
Both moaned as their lips and breath met.
While You Were Sleeping
"JJ, she's awake!" An excited Garcia stuck her head in her friend's office and quickly stepped back to keep from getting run over by the BAU's press liaison. JJ had practically leapt over her desk and raced past the technical analyst on her way out the door.
Garcia smiled and reached up to touch her cheek where JJ had planted a 'run-by' kiss.
Emily started when a fast-moving blonde darted into her hospital room, heading directly toward her. She was further surprised when said blonde kissed her full on the lips.
"JJ?" she managed once her tongue was free to function on its own.
"Oh Em, you're awake!"
Emily glanced toward the doorway. "Where's Will?" She looked at JJ's empty arms. "Where's the baby?"
"Yeah, your baby; yours and Will's."
JJ frowned. The doctor had warned her about possible amnesia; he hadn't said anything about hallucinations.
"There is no Will, Em; no baby, either. You've been in a coma for two weeks."
"But..." Emily started, frantically working to process the information. If there wasn't any Will, then there wouldn't be any baby either and that would mean...
"There's only me and you, Em."
Emily's smile lit the room.
"What's this?" Ash stared down at a beautiful bouquet that sat in the center of her desk, her eyes scanning for an accompanying card and coming up empty.
"Flowers," said Scribbs, somewhat concerned that her partner may have hit her head or suddenly become simple.
"I know they're flowers, Scribbs; I'd wondered where they'd come from." She'd automatically assumed they were intended for her as they were on her desk. Of course, there was always the possibility they were for Scribbs since there wasn't any space for the arrangement on her partner's cluttered desktop.
"Guess someone must've brought them in."
Now it was Ash's turn to worry about Scribbs' mental state. It was quite obvious that someone had brought them in and placed them on her desk, but apparently Scribbs was clueless as to how they got there.
"Never mind; it's probably Jefferson from traffic." Ash couldn't hide her grimace. "I'll just avoid him for a while."
Scribbs just nodded and walked around to her chair, spying a small white card poking out from underneath a mound of papers. Carefully, she eased it completely beneath the stack. Maybe next Valentine's she'd have the courage to affix it to the arrangement.
Nothing Stays the Same
"This isn't funny anymore, Jean," Emma practically growled, keenly aware that she was not only trapped in Jean's head but also trapped in her diamond form. Apparently, Jean Grey liked her that way the best: Stone cold and hard.
"It never is, Emma," Jean's voice filled the air around her, whooshing around her name.
"Let me out." It wasn't a command, it was a plea. Something beneath the ice queen or so she liked to think.
"No," Jean's reply was simple.
"No?" Emma questioned, laced with confusion.
"Never." Jean smiled, opening her eyes and setting Emma free for the moment.
"Nancy," Celia growled into the phone.
"Celia," Nancy replied nonchalantly, "You're looking very... Chola." Celia laughed violently in response. "Doug tells me you're playing prison bitch now-"
"-Doug can go fuck himself ten ways to Friday for all I care," she huffed. Bringing her voice to a whisper, "When I get out of here, the only person I'll be fucking with is you."
"Is that so?" Nancy raised an eyebrow, a glint in her eye.
"It is." Celia slammed down the phone, storming off before Nancy had a chance to respond. Nancy smiled to herself, she sure did miss Celia.
"Yours are nice and firm," Troi said, absentmindedly copping a feel. Crusher's face betrayed her, blushing at the contact. Arching, even. Something that wasn't lost on the Betazoid; she certainly didn't need to use her empathetic skills to figure that one out.
"Thanks," Beverly finally managed to get out. "Yours are, too." She reached out, tentatively, afraid to meet Deanna's eyes. The fact that they were both setting out on the open while the Ba'ku were being evacuated around them didn't even faze them. The effects of the planet clearly bringing out a more brazen display of affection normally hidden.
Getting It Right
"Not so hard," Sarah whispered, wincing as Cameron fit another finger inside her. It was up to three, Cameron wanted to go for four, and as the lithe figure began doing just that, Sarah quickly stilled her hand. Cameron involuntarily twitched her fingertips inside the older woman, causing a spam to wash through her lower body which encouraged Cameron to begin thrusting again. "Really," Sarah turned her head, shutting her eyes in pain, "Not as hard. Please..." She grunted at the onslaught, and Cameron seemed to understand that, slowing the pace to something more tolerable for a human being fucked.
No, Not Sleeping Pills... Sleeping Sex
Charlotte crashed into her suddenly, sending Addison's head into the back of the call room door. Before she knew it, Charlotte was thrusting two fingers inside her, under her skirt. Addison rolled her head back, closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as Charlotte's lips kissed her neck. She nipped here and there, all the while thrusting deeper inside the redhead. She felt Addison close against her, a wave flowing through the other body as she shuddered against the blonde and collapsed against the door. When Addison finally opened her eyes, Charlotte was sound asleep in the bottom bunk.
Could You Repeat That?
"I really would like to kiss you right about now," Serena said. They'd been talking about Dan and Nate, missing their boyfriends.
"What did you say?" Blair blurted out, peering over the Italian Vogue in her hands.
"What?" Serena turned, not even realizing what she said.
"What did you just say?" Blair eyed her, holding onto the magazine for dear life.
"Oh," Serena twirled a lock of hair, "I said I really would like to kiss..." Then, it hit her, "Dan right about. Yeah, Dan." She giggled nervously.
"Sure you would," Blair rolled her eyes and went back to reading.
Chuck Bass Isn't the Only Brunette Who Knows What to Do In the Back of a Limousine
Blair tweaked one of Serena's nipples between her index finger and thumb. Serena groaned into Blair's mouth, arching her back in the hopes that Blair would apply more pressure which she quickly did. They were kissing furiously, Blair having already disposing of Serena's shirt somewhere in the limo. Serena was trying to get Blair's top undone, but she was having trouble focusing. Blair was pinching Serena's nipples through her bra, causing her to shudder at the contact. Yes, Chuck Bass would be proud, and a little disappointed he hadn't installed a video camera in the back of his private limousine.
Not Kissing Mark Sloane
Callie didn't know what she was doing, she just was doing it. She was kissing Erica Hahn, not kissing Mark Sloane, and she liked it. The former, the latter, the whole thing. Erica opened her mouth to her, slipping her tongue into the other woman's mouth seeking another type of connection. Callie wrapped her arms around Erica's neck, pulling her in closer. This kiss was neither fast, nor sloppy; it just was soft, sweet and slow. Neither realized Mark Sloane was watching in the background, smiling to himself he realized how hot it was that Callie was not kissing him.
Five Years Forward
Bree Hodge stood steadfast, smoking a thin cigarette as she watched Lynette sleep.
"Some things never change," she said quietly, thinking back five years ago about secret get togethers over coffee and scones. It'd been awhile, but sure enough, they'd found each other once again. It all started upon her return from the book tour; a few hellos led to a cup of coffee, scones and sex on the coffee table. Now, they were in Bree's bedroom. The house empty.
"Some things do change," Lynette's sleep-filled voice startled the redhead. She turned, embarassed still holding the cigarette loosely between fingers.
Super Charged & Super Horny
Sarah's tongue licked its way up the brunette's slit, causing a gasp to escape Jamie's lips. Her hands where in the other woman's hair, pushing her into thrusting hips. Sarah took the hint, taking the small bud into her lips and biting down on it, hard.
"Fuck!" Jamie yelled, buckling as two fingers entered her; Sarah never stopped licking circles around her clit, biting and nipping as long fingers curled into the other woman during rushed thrusts before she came. Sarah lapped up what she could, a cocky grin taking over. She left Jamie there panting, fumbling for a cigarette.
Burning Down the School
"Do you smell that?" Willow broke away, panting slightly, bringing a hand to her chest in hopes of stilling her rapidly beating heart.
"Smell what?" Tara asked, blushing slightly. She wasn't used to talking during kissing, and Willow sure was a talker.
"It smells like something's... burning," Willow looked around quickly, satisfied the room wasn't burning down and then came crashing into Tara's lips once more, catching the blonde off guard.
Meanwhile, the mystical energy surrounding the two witches was slowly burning its way from the bottom of the curtains up. It seems kissing brought out the Wicca in them.
Want, Take, Not Have
"I swear, if you don't get your scrawny ass back here, I'm going to pop!" Faith bellowed, chasing after the other Slayer.
Just minutes ago, they were fucking against; Faith easily bringing Buffy to a climax and then the tides turn, and Buffy took the lead, only to break away suddenly and begin running down the alley towards what had to be an unseen enemy.
"It's called want, take, not have, Faith," Buffy winked. She turned quickly, staking the vampire sneaking up on her. As she turned, she spun her stake and said, "We still have a patrol to finish."
"For frak's sake, pull yourself together, Kara Thrace," she slammed a fist into the mirror before her, breaking it in the process. She'd been back on Galactica for less than an hour and all she could think of was that copy of Number Six: Natalie. There was something different, something passionate about her. She believed in her plight, her cause and she believe in Kara. Something few did nowadays. It wasn't until she realized she'd drawn blood that she was able to remind herself that Natalie was the enemy. 'She's a frakking toaster,' Kara reminded herself, 'Just a frakking toaster.'
Sex On the Beach
Kara threw her hands in the air, angrily. Cylons just didn't get the finer points of human life, like drinking. "It's not like actually having sex on the beach." She didn't know how else to explain it.
Natalie tried to understand why an alcoholic drink would be called something so vulgar.
"If I had any left, I'd show you," Kara said without quite thinking it through. "I mean, I'd try it out on you..." She growled under her breath, "Frak You know what I mean..." Natalie just shook her head, for a human, Kara Thrace certainly was entertaining when flustered.
We often ask each other what makes our job worth some of the things we go through to solve a murder. Every now and again, people get united, or reunited at times. Once you see a little bit of happiness in somone's eyes, or at the very least a sense of peace after knowing the truth about their missing loved one, it becomes known why I do this job. Mostly though, I don't have to wait that long for a reason to get up in the morning. All I have to do is is look at my collegue and I know why I do this job. It's not just because I get to work next to a beautiful woman everyday. That's just an added bonus. Her smile reminds me that for every murdering, thieving, raping arsehole in the world, there are a dozen or more people who just want to live and love in peace. There are people out there with hopes and dreams. People like her whom I swore to protect. In my heart and in my mind, I swore to protect her more than anyone.
Side by Side
It really was a nice funeral home. It wasn't where I'd expect to do a murder inquiry, seeing as the clientel was already dead, but Scribbs and I spent the better part of the afternoon there. I watched as Scribbs took her time getting back to the car. She looked around, and I did the same. There were more flowers in my line of view than in most flourists I've seen. Scribbs was in awe, and I smiled when she came in. "You think we'd be buried in a place like this?"
"What you mean side by side?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"You drive me mad as it is, Scribbs. I don't need you breaking rules in the afterlife, too."
"In the afterlife, you won't need your rules," Scribbs replied as she backed out of the car park.
"Touche," Ash said. She looked to her right at her partner and put a hand over Scribbs', which despite Ash's lecturing was on her knee instead of on the steering wheel. "Yeah, I think we will be."
Do You Think...
Ellie watched nervously as Zenith paced back and forth. "Poor JJ, but I can't be having my residents getting upset," Zenith said for the second time that night.
"Oh Zen, come to bed." At this, Zenith stopped pacing.
"Alright," the older of the two said, slowly taking off her dark blue robe.
As she shifted to make room for her lover, Ellie asked, "Do you think those detectives, Ashurst and Scribbins, are lovers?"
"If they keep on like I've seen them, they will be. Besides, why do you think I gave them the large room with the double bed instead of the one downstairs with the two twins?" Ellie smiled as Zenith snuggled into her. "G'night Darling. I love you."
"I love you too," Ellie replied as she turned out the lamp on her side of the bed, "and I'm so sorry," she finished in a whisper.
"What was that, Love?"
"Oh nothing. Goodnight." Ellie said, intertwining her hand with Zenith's.
Grace watched casually as the two women danced around one another, their words constrained by the dictates of the latest case, while each look and move spoke of unasked questions and uncertainty. It was fascinating, from a clinical perspective, especially given the diverse nature of each woman; Stella, with her fiery youth and untamed passions, and Eve, the epitome of the cool and level headed scientist cast into the prickly shell of an individualist. They were a study in contrasts.
Their dance had started slowly, and even Grace, the professional observer, had overlooked the building rhythm as mere background noise, until the melody had been released and the patterns began to take shape. Their subtleties were almost lost amid the flamboyance of Boyd's tantrums and percussion of Spencer's hard-won restraint.
The dance was beautiful, but ultimately the time would come when the music would change, and they would be forced to decide whether to sit out the next song or commit to a new dance. Grace hoped they would take the chance.
A New Purpose
With a slight tilt of her head, Cameron repeated her earlier words and gripped the processor tightly in her fist, the lie flowing smoothly from her synthetic lips. She'd kept quiet when Sarah had emphatically stated that she knew what Cameron had been thinking, and Cameron hadn't bothered to deny that the elimination of Charley Dixon was the last thing on her cybernetic mind. It should have been, but instead, she'd been entirely focused on her own termination and when it might come about. Sarah's threat to take her apart piece by piece had only served to make Cameron even more aware that existence as she knew it could be eliminated with a flick of a switchblade and twist of a pair of pliers. She patiently waited until Sarah had walked away before opening her hand and looking down on the metal which stood out in stark contrast against the pale skin which covered her metallic endoskeleton.
Cameron again gripped the piece tightly and then carefully eased it into the pouch of her belt. Her original program orders still held top priority, John Connor would not be terminated, but Cameron now had a new purpose - neither would she.
It just happens to be Natalie Miles confides in, one day on the flight to Boston.
Nursing his coffee, staring with unseeing eyes, Miles snaps out of his reverie by Natalie shifting in her seat and when their eyes meet, he just blurts them out, the words Natalie later recalls when she slips into bed with Eva.
"I think I could love her."
Next to Natalie, Eva's eyes grow wide. "Poor boy," escapes her mouth and Natalie laughs out loud, because Eva is barely older than Miles and the situation is just too amusing.
Pulling Eva closer, Natalie repeats Miles' words once more, then adds softly "I think I already do."
Symphony of Dreams
To the Eva of her dreams, Natalie imagines herself like a fine tuned piano, as dull as that cliche might sound.
Eva may not be the only one who can play that piano, but she is most definitely the only one who has mastered the art of grandeur. Not only the art of knowing which key will elicit which sound, though considering the multitude of keys hidden away on Natalie's body that not even Natalie in all her years on earth has managed to compile to an accurate number, that might be a discipline all of its own.
No, rather has Eva mastered the fineness of touch; knowing exactly how much pressure needs to be applied to a certain key to change a breath to a sigh to a moan to a cry, an octave lower or higher, a pitch softer or louder. The art of knowing how to bring forth the sweetest melody of all, consisting of no sounds at all, when Natalie's voice cracks, her body stiffens, her mind goes blank and all she can feel is the music filling her, her body overflowing with the oldest song of humanity.
Eva may not be the only one who can play her, but she is the only one who creates something beautiful together with Natalie when she plays.
When one day Natalie finds the Eva of her dreams standing next to her in the lab, hips cocked just so and a radiant smile on her face, something deep within her begins to stir and Natalie suddenly feels like singing.
I Love You
Emily lay in bed, cuddled next to JJ. Looking at her lover, she was overwhelmed with the sweetest of feelings for the gorgeous blonde.
"Have I told you recently that I love you?"
"Yes, you have," JJ answered, leaning closer and gently kissing her. "In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, and I do believe it does, you said so repeatedly just last night."
Emily pretended her face didn't just turn crimson red at the mention of their earlier activities a few hours earlier.
"I think," JJ continued, grinning, "the last time was between "harder" and "oh god yes."
Cut Throat, Literally
Celia tried not to flinch. But she couldn't help but find excitement in the danger, her life - or so she thought - hanging in the balance. She'd never seen Nancy quite like this. Nancy's lips were inches from her, threatening her with all the intensity the brunette mustered. So, Celia did the only thing she could think of to shut her up: She kissed her. Nancy was hesitant to return the kiss, but she did, dropping the knife to the floor and clambering up the counter. She mounted Celia, the blonde snaking her arms around her neck and pulling Nancy closer.
There's a Call Room Everywhere
Charlotte King was buzzing, running on empty through the hospital.
Two days without sleep and so far she couldn't find a cure. Everybody had tried to help but with little success. She ran into Addison in a hallway; the red head was checking up on a patient from the clinic, when the next thing they both knew, the vivacious blonde pulled her into the on call room. Without delay, she went at Addison furiously, clumsily from the lack of sleep.
Once it was over, Addison dressed herself and smiled at a sleeping Charlotte who finally found her cure for insomnia.
"Don't speak," Tonks said. Hermione merely nodded, running her fingertips across the older woman's jaw line. She smiled, holding back tears.
They knew the likelihood of seeing each other again was slim to none. Saying it now would do nothing to prepare them for what was to come; they were on the outskirts of Hogwarts, waiting on the word to engage Lord Voldemort.
"It's time," Harry interrupted. Hermione broke away, not looking back as she joined him and Ron and headed towards the castle. That's when Tonks pulled out her wand, met up with the Order and followed close behind.
"Do you really need all of this? There's enough clothes in here to keep everyone in Miami dressed for years."
"Those aren't all clothes," Blanche laughed, "Some of those are costumes."
"Costumes?" Dorothy rose an eyebrow skeptically. "What do you mean costumes?"
"Think about it, Dorothy!" The taller woman did think about it, and when it finally donned on her, she wanted to smack Blanch upside the head like she normally did to Rose after one of her St. Olaf stories concluded. This was Blanche, after all!
"Oh..." Dorothy trailed off, turning around to find her dressed as a cowgirl.
Sophia had never seen anything more disturbing. She had walked into Dorothy's room without knocking, like she normally did, and found her daughter and Blanche in bed. Together.
"Oh, pussycat! How did it come to this? I know you can't land a man to save your life, but was it really that bad-"
"-Ma-" Dorothy tried interjecting.
"-Don't ma me, Dorothy! No daughter of mine would get in bed with that two-bit, two-timing floozy!"
"Aren't you going to say anything in my defense?" Blanche prodded. Dorothy merely shrugged; her mom was painting an accurate picture so far.
You Wanted to See Me?
"Garcia said you wanted me?"
"She did?" JJ turned a puzzled eye on the papers and folders strewn across her desk. "There's nothing that..." A touch of red infused her cheeks. "I am going to kill her."
"Excuse me?" Normally those words would have worried Emily but the mortified look on JJ's face told her that Garcia wasn't in any immediate danger. "Is everything okay, JJ?"
"Garcia, she... She wanted me to go on a double date with her and some guy she met on the internet." She couldn't quite meet Emily's eyes as she added. "But I said the only way she'd get me to come along was if she could rustle up the wo... person of my dreams."
Emily looked confused until the moment JJ's eyes met hers and suddenly, "Oh."
I know who's on the other side of the door even before I turn the lock.
There had been a moment, at the end of the case, when her eyes met mine and suddenly I could tell that she knew. Just knew, how much I was hurting. How the images from the case had already started to plague my thoughts. I couldn't say anything. Too afraid to question just what it was that she does see, all those times her look meets mine. I might be the profiler, but she can read me better than anyone I've ever known.
When the door opens she just smiles at me; not the full, exuberant smile that signals her joy or even the fake smile she displays for the cameras. This smile is sad and warm, understanding and fierce, and so many other things I cannot even begin to name. And what steals the breath from my lungs is knowing that it's all for me.
As she slips effortlessly into my arms, I know that I've been a fool not to reach out to her. Her knowledge of me is terrifying, but it's also the only thing keeping me from drowning in a sea of other people's pain. I close my eyes and for the first time in hours it's not the dead that I see, but my bright haired angel come to save me.
Could this be love?
Nora had never been the shopping type. She couldn't understand women who spent endless hours hunting down bargains and had always given men who let themselves be used as mules contemptuous looks. And yet, here she was, patiently trudging after Nikki into every store that advertised a sale in bright orange letters, judging outfits, shoes, and handbags with a nod or a shake of her head, and carrying bags full of items Nikki had purchased through the mall. After stowing away the haul in the trunk of their car, Nora turned to Nikki to find her wearing a fond, grateful smile on her face. Nora smiled back. Yes, this had to be love.
Every time she thinks there's a woman she could fall in love with, that woman ends up with someone else. People who sail in the same boat of solitude as her set foot on land and are welcomed into warm embraces. A tiny part of her feels betrayed by being left behind like this, but, mostly, she doesn't grudge them their togetherness - she likes seeing people happy. But she watches them, and she can't help the subtle aching in the pit of her stomach that refuses to be ignored. Her idealism is fading, and she begins to doubt the corny saying that there really is a match for everyone. On some days, it's not companionship she craves most, or even physical intimacy. It's the simple knowledge that she's cared about, the somewhat pathetic but human need to feel that her existence matters. As her hope to find love slowly dims, the only comfort she has is that at least with this feeling, she's not alone.
It wasn't the promise of a family night in with her two favourite girls.
It wasn't the promise of being there when Cassie first tasted popcorn.
It wasn't even the promise of sharing a large double cone of ice cream.
And it certainly wasn't the promise of watching Jungle Book again, this time being allowed to sing along to 'I wanna be like you-u-u'.
In truth, it wasn't even the promise of just what Janet could do with a large tub of melted M&M's.
No, it was only the promise of post-orgasmic blue Jell-O that finally brought Sam running home.
Barbara looked from one woman to the other.
One young, carefree and vibrant; dark hair shining almost black, eyes flashing vivid blue; one older, battle-weary and drawn; blond hair glistening with grey and tell-tale black roots, eyes a calming blue.
Resting her hand in the small of the younger woman's back, she claimed what she knew to be hers.
There really was no contest.
Seeing a nod of acknowledgment, she grabbed a small calloused hand, brushing her thumb in a remembered gesture that said enough.
After all, it was a well known fact you never forget the first.
Hard Spherical Objects
"Just a little more to the right."
As Helena leaned over her, so close they were almost one, Barbara shivered.
"Not there, Hel, there."
Helena sighed; the whisper blowing soft as a caress over Barbara's already sensitized skin.
"Okay, I think you're there; just a little this way."
She moved the hand a millimetre left and watched as fingers twitched in anticipation.
"Just do it, Hel."
The tip of Helena's tongue shone as it peaked through her swollen lips, concentrating.
Barbara held her breath, waiting.
"Ah come on, Babs, how difficult can it be to knock a coconut down."
"I'm not her Ruth," Jamie slid a hand along a soft cheek into crisp blonde hair.
Ruth looked up from her spot on the floor, staring for real for the first time into the dark eyes filled with determination and something else. Something more raw and wild. "But you could be Jamie. You very easily could be." She watched the truth of that hit Jamie. The flicker of pain and fear was quickly followed by anger.
Ruth put her hand over the one on her cheek. "She killed someone I cared for very much that night she went off the grid It's still hard for me to forget. Or to trust my heart to someone again."
Jamie let that sink in. Time to trust someone around here. Maybe time for Ruth to trust again too. Jamie turned and slid down the wall to sit beside Ruth. She hugged her legs, staring once again out the window. "Something about her calls to me Ruth, and I'm afraid someday I'll answer."
Ruth ran her fingers along the dark tresses for a time and pulled her into a hug. She needed this. It seems they both need this. "Let me give you something to hang onto."
It was the music that first made her fall. The music, and the dancing, and that intense brown-eyed gaze, and that stupid, stupid cowboy hat.
It was Jay and his complete inability to ruin the moment no matter how hard he tried. It was that shoeless walk home, and the detour to Alex's house. It was finally seeing the things that Alex dealt with every day and realizing that the girl was stronger than anyone she'd ever known.
It was the silent journey home, and the thousands of reassurances that the cut really wasn't all that bad. It was playing nurse in the dark of her bedroom, and the raw honesty in Alex's eyes when she said she was in trouble. It was the pure anticipation, and wild excitement of that tentative first kiss.
It was music that made her fall. The music, and that stupid cowboy hat. It was everything about that night. But none of that mattered as long as Alex was there to catch her at the bottom.
Maybe this falling thing wasn't so bad.
She was a freak. A science experiment. Frankenstein's newest monster. She could see it in their ever look; Jonas, with half an eye on the balance sheet, rarely tried to pretend she was human; Ruth tried, she supposed, but her scrutiny was akin to an invasion. Jae couldn't even look at her, his mind's eye filled with another, while Antonio, the bastard, held her in contempt. The freak in their private freak show.
Sarah was different. More of a freak. More of everything. When Sarah looked at her the disgust was absent. The desire almost hidden. An anomaly of two.
I always thought naming girls after flowers was antiquated and ridiculous, but as I lay here, watching her sleep, I stroke the alabaster skin of her shoulder and think that perhaps this once, the comparison is appropriate.
Slender and pale, she is simple and elegant - so unlike the extravagance or decadence of a rose. Her coloring is subtle but exquisite and like the flower of her namesake, she has no visible protection. She is solitary. Her strength comes from within, and I have watched her flourish in the harshest environments.
Lilly. No, in this case, the name suits the woman perfectly.
Elliot knows there's a function to everything in the hospital. Coffeebucks serves Kelso's desire to siphon every cent from the resident's paychecks, without installing a pay toilet and offering free bran muffins. The too-tight scrubs Nurse Slut wears answer Todd's prayer to see "M's and D's."
While she knows the function of everything, she's not sure about everyone. Janitor clearly hangs around to torture J.D. on a daily basis. Elliot wonders if he and Cox draw straws on who gets first dibs at the beginning of a week. But it's Jordan who confuses her the most.
Then she sees Jordan in the hall, and ten seconds later, they're in an on-call bed, with Elliot wondering if she'll have sex hair aloud, until she finds Jordan's hand clamped over her mouth. And Elliot gets it.
I Slipped I Stumbled I Fell
It was inevitable that they would end up like this.
Jill barely had time to process any of it when Maxine pulled her closer, kissing her, yet again—only harder.
And perhaps it was done out of instinct, fear, or even curiosity - whatever the reason, Jill found herself reciprocating and deepening the kiss—which prompted Maxine to smirk, smugly.
Not that Jill was gay—far from it.
But, Maxine had intrigued her. She had this pull over her that no-one ever had.
And if Jill had to be honest, at this particular moment she didn't want it any other way.
Where Do I Go From Here
Jill thought they would understand. Thought the attraction was reciprocated.
How could she have gotten it so wrong?
Years of friendship ruined, by her miscalculation.
At the time, it seemed like a good idea—not that she regrets it.
But of course, in Jill's mind everything played out differently, with Kelly and Bree reciprocating their more than companionable love for her.
Their love, however, in reality would remain no more than platonic.
And the last thing she expected was their disgusted reactions....
God, how could she have gotten it so wrong?
And how could she face them, come Monday morning?
The Fire Within
There is no need for Xena's words to be audible to all. I can feel her call to me, asking for me to join her. Through the haze I hear her, 'Come to me.' Like a siren's call to my soul, my body follows without hesitation. I gaze into her eyes and my skin becomes inflamed by the desire I see burning behind them. Our bodies meet and all the others cease to exist. The touch of her fingers across my body make the fire within me build, consuming me. My urges to touch her are overwhelming and my hands do their bidding. Xena's skin ripples and tightens with every stroke. As I am pulled into her embrace, my thoughts have never felt so clear. This is where I am meant to be, in her arms and hers alone. All my insecurities melted away by the fire within.
Just a Part of Life
Roxy tried not to react as the alcohol soaked lips pressed against hers. She'd had drunk soldiers try to kiss her before. It was as much a part of her life as making drinks and breathing smoke. But this was the first time that the soldier pressing her against a wall was a woman. She decided it was the surprise of it all. That was why she let it last as long as it did, why she was glad that they were in a back hallway. One little kiss wasn't anything to ruin a career over and she didn't need any more gossip. It was just a kiss. Well, wasn't it?
Addison could not, for the life of her, figure out why everyone at Seattle Grace Hospital just assumed she was gay. Sure she had slept with half of the female staff, including a few of Bailey's interns, then there had been the "thing" with Derek's sister, and lately she had been meeting up with Izzie Stevens in the supply closet rather often, but she was NOT gay. Yes, some people questioned why she had gone into gynecology, but it wasn't because she was gay. Addison continued along this line of thought as a pair of soft, very feminine lips tracked their way down her body.
Looking deep inside
"Lisa..." Suzanna's voice catches when she sees you. You smile softly, stepping inside her home when she invites you in. She's got her own home now... and she's invited you to live with her... you said yes of course. "How are you?" The gentle tone in her voice causes you to melt slightly... she hasn't forgotten you.
"I'm doing okay..." You reply firmly, still not used to being free... She'd stayed away whilst you got yourself straight... but eventually you got out and now you've come to re-claim her.
She smiles as you reply, seeming glad to see you again. "I missed you..."
She seems unsure whether to make the next move so you do it for her. Stepping closer you kiss her, softly...
A New Year
Cassandra Fraiser stood between Sam and Janet on the terrace in front of Janet's house and tried to will the hands of her watch to move faster. She looked forward not only to the firework but that she would drink alcohol for the first time in her life in a few minutes. Weeks ago Sam and Janet had promised her a quarter glass for the turn of the year.
She heard glasses clinking behind her and then Sam whispered: "I love you."
The following noises let the teenager stare at the glass in her hands. Knowing your own parents were making out was so... gross!
As the sky above Colorado Springs was enlightened by red, yellow, white, green and blue stars Cassie drank Champagne for the first time in her life.
The First Time
Her relationship with Janet had been a series of Firsts
The first time...
she kissed another woman
she told someone she loved them and meant it with all her heart
she really broke regulations
she fantasized about someone else at work
she had a reason not to work, someone to come home to
someone loved her without reservation, without an agenda or any desire to change her from who she essentially was
she wished she was a better person because that was what her lover deserved
and when it was over, irrevocably over, the first time she broke her heart.
Us Dead To
It's breakfast and a kiss on the lips on the way out the door. Abby grabs her jacket and follows her. She stops for Caf-Pow.
It's dinner and she's still in her lab, processing evidence for Gibbs. She waits for a print-out from her Mass-Spec and wonders when Ziva will drop in. Ziva hasn't come down to Abby's lab all day.
It's past midnight and Abby's still working. The Director comes down to her lab and apologizes.
In all the confusion...so much going on...Ziva's gone back...gone home...
And it's like she's dead now because there is nothing for them anymore.
You seek out her company because you don't want to be alone and you can't stand that she's still mad at you. It's been a while since you really cared about someone else's opinion but she gets to you, gets under your skin.
She whispers snarky comments in your ear during class, pulling faces only you can see behind your tutor's backs, and you have to fight the urge to laugh because you can't; people will think you're crazier than they already do.
You shoot her a glare in response and she smirks back at you, eyes dancing with merriment. She taunts you through the entire class and, when it's over, you chase her back to your room, ignoring the quizzical looks from your classmates.
She collapses on your bed as you attempt to yell at her through the giggles you can no longer hold back, unwilling to complain too much. It's the first time she's been in a really good mood since Cassie's death and you're pleased to see it.
Instead you sit down beside her, curling up comfortably. You're glad that she's there, her laughter echoing in your ears; grateful that, for once, you're not in this alone.
It's only logical, Thelma tells herself, to search out Ella whenever Cassie isn't around. After all, there aren't many people for her to talk to, at least not ones who can see her. She could talk to Azazeal but there's the whole 'you killed me!' issue always hanging between them, and her options are otherwise limited to Cassie, Ella and the demons they all encounter.
Ella fascinates her, and she's fun to tease.
She finds playing with Ella almost as much fun as playing with Cassie; both are equally easy to annoy whenever she's bored and in need of entertainment, though she's not as certain she'd survive pissing Ella off.
She listens as Ella talks about her great love affair with a demon-man, finding herself surprisingly sympathetic. She felt a similar way about Cassie, only Cassie didn't love her back; can't now, even if she wants to.
She hates seeing Ella look so sad, and tries to lighten the moment with jokes about hot lesbian ghosts sweeping her off her feet, smiling when Ella relaxes and smiles at her.
They'll have enough to worry about when Azazeal makes a play for his child.
Until then, they might as well relax.
Azazeal sees everything; the looks, the touches, the pain and the heartache.
His beloved Cassie loved him, but ultimately loved her more; the girl he'd killed, torn out of her life without a second thought. The two are kissing, hands entwined, and when they separate, he can't help the tear that falls from his eye.
He loved Cassie but he thinks that Thelma loved her more.
He'll never give up on what he's started but, for the first time, he's invested himself emotionally and he cares. He's finally succeeded but watching them embrace, he realizes: it doesn't feel that way.
I knocked on her door swallowing hard. She had her head in her hands, fingers laced in her hair. Her posture screaming her fatigue. Raising her head slowly she gestured me in. Coming in I handed her the cup of coffee I had in my hand - black, one sugar. After taking a sip she smiled "Thank you. How did you..." her smile made my heart melt. I shrugged.
"It looked like you could use it."
"Do I really look that bad?"
"No." I said quickly and she laughed. "That was too quickly, wasn't it? I mean it though." I added looking her in the eye. Leaning back in her chair she crossed her arms under her breasts.
"What can I do for you Dr. Cameron?" I stuffed my hands in my pants' pockets, trying through this to control, and hide, their shaking.
"I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a late dinner. I don't know if you ate yet, and..." The surprise that shone in her eyes made me stop in mid sentence. "But you're probably busy so I'll leave." She straightened in her chair.
"Cameron, wait," I turned around to face her again. "I'd like that." She said with a smile, I smiled back. My hands were shaking again.
"I'll get my things and meet you on the clinic lobby?" she nodded and I once again, turned to leave, trying to conceal the bounce in my step.
It might not be a date, but at least it's something.
Panting, gasping, she clawed through the air sitting up, her body covered in sweat "God..." she sighed. Throwing off the covers, she stood up, heading for the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and pressed the cool glass to her forehead as she leaned against the counter. She hated those long, cold, nights when she'd go to sleep, and wake up, alone. The nights only their bed would see her wake.
Her head turned to the sound of a key scraping the lock, and she couldn't help but smile. With Cameron, being awake was worth it.
The blonde moved in close to take a kiss, but the red head evaded her lover's lips.
"Not here," she whispered, smiling coyly. Her eyes were lit by a desire to play.
"Here?" A suckling, teasing kiss descended on the exposed collarbone.
"Mmm, good, but no." The red head ran her fingers through blonde tresses.
"Here, then," the blonde purred, kissing a tightly erect nipple.
"No." The kisser moved lower at the negative.
"Where?" she asked, her breath blowing over soft red curls.
"There," the red head moaned.
Maybe Brainiac was evil, but he had given her a sweet blessing.
Huntress moved stealthily forward, every sense as fine tuned as that of her mother's namesake. She slipped cautiously toward her target, lost in that fine tuned awareness of each moment, the very ripples of air pressure warning her of threats to her mission. She was just within reach, her fingers poised to touch what she sought.
"Very good," came the amused voice, before fingers laced in hers, pulling her forward. The two women came face to face, before Barbara smiled, claiming a kiss. "Maybe one night, I won't wake up first."
"One night," Helena agreed, eyes narrow like a cat's.
Don't Let Go
It gets harder every time you see her, gets more difficult to force yourself not to reach out to touch her, not to let the words fall from your mouth that tell her just how much you miss her and want her and god, maybe even love her, but you don't know, you don't know because you won't let yourself use that word with anyone and she holds your heart in the palm of her hand and she doesn't even know it, but if you had your way she never would. She can't. She won't. Because you won't tell her.
Even if, some day in the future, you find yourself beneath her, your mouth playing over that tempting expanse of soft skin beneath her breasts as she arches backward above you, and you slip your fingers inside of her so you can fuck her 'til she cries before letting her return the favour, lying limply together with your legs entangled and the mass of her beautiful hair playing over your nipples as you hold her, your arms wrapped around her waist and you tell yourself that you never want to let her go... you will never say that you love her.
She has always had an affinity for wildness, somehow, despite her carefully trained behaviour and highly tuned physical responses.
That is why, when the beautiful girl with the red-gold curls stepped forth to prove her betrayal of Teyla's trust, she had no problem admitting to herself that she had believed her former friend would break out, somehow, someday, from the confines of her people, the Genii.
She had many times thought about making love to Sora, tangling her fingers in her ringlets and stroking her fair, freckled body with tongue and hands and eyes until the younger woman gasped for breath beneath her, over and again, lying with her beyond the dawn in the sweet emerald grass of Genia.
It had never occurred to Teyla that the chosen rebellion would be against herself.
Behind the Glass
It's been a long time since she felt this way. She wasn't used to her heart fluttering anymore, she thought she was too old for that, too tired, too over worked.
But she didn't feel like any of those things when she saw her. She felt young, alive. But she also knew that she couldn't have her. Knew the woman's heart belonged to someone else.
She could see the look in her eyes when she looked at him when she thought no one saw her. She looked at them from the other room and wished she was standing before her.
When was the last time you felt like this?
When last didn't you inhale deeply, just because she touched your hand?
When was the last time you had a thought that didn't contain her in it?
When did you last go to sleep when your head hit the pillow, like you used to, before her?
She is not as oblivious as you might think. When she comes into the room she asks, concerned "Are you ok? You look tired..." all you do is smile and answer: "I slept like a dog."
"You mean log." she smiles at you, and leaves.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Janet peered out the window, grimacing at the heavy rain, wincing as bright lightning flashes sliced the sky. Involuntarily, she shivered as wind gusts shoved against tree branches.
Closing the curtain, she sighed, trying to stop worrying. Where was Sam? The blonde was due home fifteen minutes ago. Janet sipped her cocoa, hoping to calm her nerves.
It didn't work.
She jumped when the phone rang, then smiled as she heard her lover's voice - reassuring her. Sam was still at work. She was safe.
Suddenly, the night didn't seem so dark or stormy.
C.J. once had to straighten the First Lady's collar back before she was First Lady. It was a warm March afternoon in Idaho, and they had spent the day preparing for a speech involving politics and not just issues. Abbey was in jeans and a t-shirt ten minutes before show time because an intern had spilled water all over the perfectly manicured suit required at such events. In her haste to change once a new suit had been brought to her, the First Lady of New Hampshire had forgotten a detail: a crooked collar.
C.J. still longs to again feel Abbey's pulse point beating beneath her fingertips.
What She Fears
Her desires are anomalous, not unimaginable, just peculiar. She thinks she must be reaching for the unusual to justify her inaction. If she can think of a fantasy too deviant, then she knows the objective of her longing would refuse her request and their relationship would not change. So, she becomes a martyr, believing as she does in their work, knowing all the while she could have what she wants. If she gave in, if she allowed the normal to creep into her late night thoughts, the world would crumple.
It is not rejection she fears but acceptance.
C.J. was allowed space where the governor's wife was concerned. Abbey was the one to allow it, gave her permission to be herself instead of the future press secretary, wasn't always testing her or trying to shape her. C.J. felt guilty for doing her job while in Abbey's presence, calling her "Mrs." instead of "Dr.," positioning her as scenery instead of a centerpiece. C.J. felt even more shame when her eyes would refuse to concentrate on Jed Bartlet's features, when they would fail to waver from the darkly dressed trophy by his side.
It was not right she should desire what she had to change.
This is so different from what she's used to. So different from what she's comfortable with. She's always been the replacement, the slut, the whore. The one everybody sleeps with, then ignores. Never the one that somebody loved. She'd always believed that that was all she was, all she ever could be. And she was used to it. Hard and fast; thanks, that was great.
But then she met her. An angel in command boots, talking hard and taking crap from no one. God knows B'Elanna did to deserve her grace. She melted the wall of ice that had taken her whole life to build up within a year.
She never knew what it was to be loved until now.
Pacing around the room, I wait apprehensively for her reaction. Pacing back and forth, I wonder what could be taking her so long. Tentively, I knock on the washroom door, wondering if I have a death wish.
"'Lanna?" All I get from her is a low, threatening growl, and I'm reminded of all the reasons this was a bad idea. With her, one innocent gesture can turn lust to anger, and I really didn't want to spend another evening arguing with her. "Baby, come on out and let me see."
"This had better be a joke, or I am going to fucking kill you." She yells through the door, anger so very apparent.
"It's not that bad. Come on. You said I could pick anything I wanted." I weakly try to defend myself, praying she won't back out.
"So why the hell couldn't you have worn it?" She's weakening, I can tell. Otherwise she's just have refused to go.
"Because it's my birthday, and I said so."
Cursing in Klingon quietly, she walks out, dragging her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of the pink, frilly dress. Glaring at me, she gestures at the dress.
"What is this?"
"You my dear, are the beautiful Sleeping Beauty, and I am the dashing Prince Charming who comes to wake you from your hundred-year slumber."
Her lips were what attracted her to Hoshi in the first place. Full, lush, they showed emotion when nothing else about her did; pressed together when she was angry, barely closed when she was impressed. The way the corner of her mouth would twitch slightly when someone said something stupid, saying just how much humanity was wearing on her emotional wall.
But it was the fact that the communications officer was willing to swear on the crew's life that she knew Hoshi was watching her, the little bit of a pout that would appear when no one else was looking, the extra sway when she turned to leave the room that held her attention, that was what made it into more than a passing attraction.
And then it happened. Better than in any of her fantasies, the sub-commander showed up at her quarters, kissing her, needing. The door closing behind her, leading to a night she'll never forget. And she was sure that the Vulcan had felt the something that had passed between them.
But it all must've been in her head, because T'Pol is with Trip, and Hoshi's heartbroken.
She had no idea what the world around her was like. Completely in bliss of the dangers around her. And Buffy never told her. She took it upon yourself to protect her from the big bad monsters that exist. Slaying demons when she wasn't looking, and kissing her fears away when she was. Danielle, she had said her name was. Such a pretty girl she had been. They had met at a school football game, and that was it. She had been head-over-heals in love.
But then Buffy moved away, and met Angel. From the few letters Buffy had received, she knew Danielle had met a boy, too. And then another, dumping the first. Because popular girls could do that and get away with it. So they had moved on, and a year after Buffy had arrived in Sunnydale, they lost contact. Danielle moved with no forwarding address, and that was it.
So it's fair to say that when she saw her clearly outside the Bronze, clearly recognizing Buffy, slaying a vampire and introducing herself as Faith, it was a shock.
She's not to sure when it started, after he died, obviously (but maybe not or maybe way after). The whole goddamn thing's fucked, and maybe it's as screwed up as Cassie is.
She can't even be sure of everything that happened, but sometimes she'll look at her and wonder who the hell she's looking at because there is no way it's the girl she's known for so long. Sometimes, it'll be like there's nobody inside, so then she'll say something, and all of hell will come down on her because of it. Her head is thick with fog, and she thinks maybe it's because of whatever the hell was in the drink Raven got for her, but she can barely remember that night other then that Matt was a fucking bastard and she knows what she saw, just as he saw it, but she's always been good at pretending that she's got no clue what's going on.
But there are some things she can't pretend, and some things she doesn't want to, like walking into Cassie's and finding the aftermath of their fuck-session, but she's not to sure which one that is. And then all of a sudden Raven was there, (but maybe she was there before) and she could pretend that (her hair was longer and blonde rather then black, that her clothes were more conservative and girly, that it was romantic rather then painful) everything was normal, (better!) and Matt isn't in love with Cassie or he wasn't screwing her every time no one was looking because he liked it rough while Cass was pure and good. Like she hadn't said did that when Cassie was angry and hurting, just because she was too, and that maybe it could be like it had been before they all went off on their own.
Kinda like it had been when Cassie played with her dinosaur, Matt still threw pebbles at them, when he still pulled their ponytails and she was still called Annie-Ball rather than 'that bitch'.
Dirty words pass through her lips as she screams, pleading, begging. Words she's never used, never even thought, and noises that don't even sound human, as she thrusts up, only to have the girl pull away.
Whimpering, she feels Gwen's lips nip at her earlobe, her breath tickling her neck, and she can't keep back the cry of need that escapes her.
"Please." Gwen's voice is low as she lets out a small chuckle. She's evil, she decides, as her hand lightly runs up and down the blonde girl's side. "Please."
"Come on, girl, you can say it. Whose are you?"
And with a look of submission, she said it, needing what only Gwen can give her.
And her scream of release is so loud, Tara's sure they can hear it back in Sunnydale.
Lies Like Air
Nina tells her the world's not ending, it's just changing. That when the earth shakes, causing building to crumble and driving them to find cover, it's god's way of clearing out the land for the good and strong to survive, of which both of them are.
How they managed to find each other is a mystery to her, but Nina said it was god's way of telling them that there was more out there than hopelessness. Once, when Anne was feeling more lucid and less childlike, she asked her if she had always been this religious. Nina had just laughed and asked if it mattered. Anne thought it did, but didn't want to say anything to upset her.
Once in a while, Nina leaves before dusk and doesn't come back for a few days. It's at these times Anne worries the most. She spends the entire time she's gone trying to remember if she said or did anything to make Nina mad at her. So far, she can't see a pattern, but maybe she's missing it.
Sometimes, they sit and tell each other stories of heroes. Hers are about a supergirl who was chosen to fight the demons, with blonde hair and green eyes. Her name was Buffy, but she went by Anne once, too, and how actually, that's how she got the name. Nina's are about a vampire, but a good one, who ran a law firm and once got turned into a puppet.
Other times, it's stories about a man named Gunn who only ever wanted to help and put his life on the line to save others who would have thought he was the reason LA was such a dangerous place to live, or a girl named Fred who was so nice and went out of her way to comfort people for as long as they needed when people were bugging her about the other things she had to do.
But most of the time, they just sit close and wait for the tremors to pass before curling up together and going to sleep, both dreaming about a better time, maybe in the past, maybe in the future, but it's a time when they are happy, together and not living in terror every day, fearing it could be their last.
Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies
They said that she's... I don't know, crazy. Unstable. But there is no way in hell they can get me to believe it. Sure, I know that she killed that guy, I saw her do it. But she didn't mean to. And I know that she's lying to herself just as hard to her self at to us when she says that she doesn't care. She has to be. She wouldn't have been Chosen if a human death didn't affect her the way it does me. She is just better at covering it up, is all. That's all it is. Because there is no way she's not dying inside herself, that when she closes her eyes she doesn't see the guy and hate herself for it. I know that she hurts just as bad as I do, that the guilt has to searing her inside as it is me.
I know it has to be, that she has to be lying.
Because if she's not... what does that mean for me?
Leather-clad hips sway to the music, up and down, her movements mirroring your own. Or maybe it's the other way around. Not that it matters. You're one and the same. One entity, existing in two bodies, moving fluently together without one beat apart. Others swarm around, but all you know is of her breath on your neck and your arms around on her waist. Hair slick with sweat, clings to your forehead, and she laughs as she sees you staring into her deep brown eyes, the beautiful pools twinkling with happiness, something you weren't ever sure she'd feel again. You giggle with her, grinning as she pulls you toward the exist, dancing the way. You love her, and that's all that really matters. Because that's the way it goes, and the rest of them don't have a clue where you are, anyhow.
Faith is your girlfriend, and you are hers, and that's all that matters.
She loves you. And you love her. What was that expression Buffy had once quoted from her?
Want. Take. Have.
And boy, does she have you.
Roses are red,
From 'Psycho slayer'
To My Dark Slayer
Roses are red,
Roses are red,
To Mr.Giles (Tweed)
Roses are red,
From Ms.Lehane and Ms.Maclay
My number one most humiliating moment in high school: having too much to drink, pulling Ms. Gordon onto the dance floor, performing an amazing Tango, gracefully arching her backwards, our lips locked together... only to drop her unceremoniously to the floor.
Every year, on the anniversary of that dance, I sit on Barbara's lap, no arching backwards, and take her lips in the only Tango now available to us. Yet today, I saw her walking. When Barbara says, "I'll get it to work," I know she will.
How ironic, losing my best-friend may lead to our love tangoing once more
I Knew Your Mother
Lady Blackhawk watched as the flowers arrived dead on time.
Smiling, she saw the blonde recipient finger the card, and mouthed the greeting.
'From one black lady to another with a kiss. x'
Dinah smiled smugly and glanced over the counter.
"It's really rather ridiculous to send flowers to a florist; how'd you know I liked Orchids, anyway?"
Zinda remained quiet. Positive Dinah had no knowledge of her presence; Black Canary's next words surprised her.
"Answer the question Zinda, I know you're there."
Emerging slowly from behind the exotic blooms, Zinda murmured, "Once upon a time, I knew your mother."
Janet stumbled over the remnants of the night before; fuse wire, screws, tools, light-bulbs, broken plastic...
... an upended coffee table, knickers, bras, two sets of underwear.
She remembered coming home to darkness, hearing the gentle snores of Sam, stubbing her toe, and falling straight into the lap of her gorgeous electrician.
Janet said sorry.
Later, much later, Sam sheepishly admitted failing to repair her power loss.
Sam said sorry.
Janet smiled evilly.
In the kitchen she noticed her fuse box, flipped the trip switch, and, as if by magic, bright light surrounded her.
Temperance turned her head towards Angela with a frown on her face. "You might even kiss me under the mistletoe? I'm not only the last person you were going to kiss, but you're not even certain?"
Angela rolled over in her sleeping bag and faced Tempe with a rather patronizing look. "I wasn't certain that I was going to kiss you under the mistletoe. I was certain that I was going to kiss you. And anyway, aren't you the last person I kiss every night?"
Temperance smiled slightly and rolled her eyes, leaning in as Angela's lips met her own.
House saw something odd when Cameron reached out to open the door. Peeking out from under her sleeve were reddish-purple marks around her wrist. He grabbed her arm and pushed the sleeve up further.
"House, what are you-?" Cameron protested, immediately jerking her arm away. She tugged her sleeve back down over her wrist.
But House had already figured it out. Just like any semi-competent doctor (or anyone who watched CSI), he could identify those bruises.
He smirked at her and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Looks like Cuddy's gotten kinky!"
Her furious blush was his only reply.
I can feel it. The power. The desire. It courses through my veins more viscous than blood. It consumes me and I love it. That's what they don't understand. What I didn't understand before now. I am the darkness. The Hellmouth, the slayer, the deaths; all there to make me the person I am. The vessel of magic that I have become. I'm fate's bitch or fate's mine, I'm not sure. I just know that killing Warren unleashed my destiny.
I am finally who I was meant to be.
They cowered before my power and now they pity my weakness. Only now I know the weakness was merely the last vestige of my fear, trying to restrain me from becoming. That fear is gone and there will be no more pity in their eyes. Awe, hope, even terror will greet me; desire and lust will beckon me.
When I unleash the slayers, I will be unleashing myself.
Then they will really know fear.
How come you can touch chip packets, open doors and raid morgues till the cows come home, but when you want to actually touch a girl, your fingers feel all translucent and wobbly? Chips, but not breasts? Yep, that's a fair universe. Touch is wasted on the living. Give it to them and what happens? The girl you're crazy about goes and shacks up with the bastard that did you in.
You wish you could borrow Cassie's ability to touch, just for one day, (hey, stranger things have happened). A switch of positions? You'd run your fingers down her body, tease her. Laugh, as she arches her back, unable to reciprocate. Yeah, we'll see how she likes having to sit and gape at the world, without being able to smack it one. You'll show her what too much thinking time does to a person's creativity.
You're sure there's a reason she protests so much.
"I'm not interested, Thelma. Alright?"
"Yeah. I get it."
"I'm just not into it."
"For crying out loud, you don't need to repeat yourself!"
Maybe touch can be borrowed, like something out of Cinderella? A night of glass slippers and ghostly lesbianism?
She'll probably even enjoy it.
Together and Alone
Thoughts tumbled through Susan's mind, vague and disjointed, and soon to be displaced by the immediacy of emotion. Passion crowding out every thought and providing a safe haven of erotic escape from discovery.
A moan rumbled up from her chest, treacle thick and yearning for freedom, only to be swallowed whole by Talia's questing lips. Bodies slick with sweat and fighting against each other and themselves, as the physical was released and mental carefully corralled.
An arch of the body and the flash of images wrought red with lust's fire. Breath ragged and thoughts begging to be shared. A moment of quiet before the fear and need push them apart, even as they reach out to come together. Together and alone; an impossibility they clung to more fervently than they did each other.
A chance for love without fear.
Body straining, fighting to breathe, a war of dominance fought with muscles and will. Two people locked together, clawing, biting, screaming. Skin inflamed, raw and bruised, writhing atop muscle and sinew locked in a deadly game.
Breath expelled and calm replacing fever as the combatants fall from each other's touch. The winner lies panting, victory written clearly in her eyes, her skin glowing with arrogance and disdain. The other is still, her eyes closed, her body overcome.
An exchange of looks and the victor quickly relinquishes her control and submits to the torture that is love.