DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor have any official association with Warehouse 13 or Sanctuary. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Set during the time of Warehouse 12.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Racethewind10[at]gmail.com
This Fire Between Us
Helen had no idea how long she'd been reading the text before her. Long enough to get a twinge in her neck and for her body to tell her it was time to move. It wasn't the stiffness in her back or the tiredness in her eyes that startled the scientist from the treatise on abnormal physiology in certain aquatic subspecies, however.
That interruption was due to the woman that strolled - no, sauntered - into Helen's study with all the cockiness of the most dashing rakes. Hands in the pockets of her tailored trousers, long men's coat abandoned, riot of ink-black curls tumbling over her slender shoulders to cast shadows on the fitted grey vest, H.G. Wells walked with sure, cat-quiet steps to Helen's liquor cabinet and with the deft movements speaking of long practice, poured herself a stiff drink.
And as always, Magnus found herself instantly caught between irritation and arousal. She never could quite put a finger on what made Helena Wells so damned alluring. Oh the quicksilver mind helped. The two women had lost whole days arguing some obscure point of biology or philosophy or morality. But it was more than H.G.'s mind. More even than her physical looks - though God knew she was a stunning specimen under those flattering clothes.
No, it was something deeper, more intangible. More elemental.
Helen set Magnus' skin on fire, her heart to racing, turned her throat dry with inexplicable and uncontrollable want.
They were like tinder and a match around each other, bringing out the best, and the worst depending on their moods. Magnus was grateful to count the slight woman as an ally, and a formidable one at that, but Helen already knew for a surety that H.G. Wells could be a viscous enemy.
Such considerations were thrown right out of her head, however, when with a very precise motion, Helena set down her scotch, crossed the intervening space and poured herself onto the couch next to Helen. There was no other way to describe the way the smaller woman moved.
"Are you truly studying darling, or would you mind terribly if I distracted you for a while?" The words were polite, throaty, almost delicate in their sensibility, but Helena's dark eyes burned.
Sometimes Helen wondered if she shouldn't do more to ease the fire that seemed to rage within the almost frail-looking frame of the woman next to her.
Other times, Helen acknowledged that any such attempts would be utterly, completely futile.
Helena would burn, with or without her, and Magnus was only a tiny bit ashamed to admit that she was as drawn to that fire as a moth to a candle.
And so instead of words, the scientist marked her place and pushed her book aside, welcoming Helena's hands and mouth and surrendering to the flames that roared between them.
Sometime later, Helen wrapped her black silk robe around her, snagged Helena's discarded glass and settled back onto her sofa, letting the soft leather cradle her body. A body that was pleasantly aching and very much sated.
Tucking her legs under her, Magnus took a slow sip of the 20 year old scotch, holding it up afterward to watch the firelight through the amber liquid. Her eyes, however, found themselves inexorably drawn to a much more appealing site. Still stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, Helena was gloriously, unashamedly naked. The flickering flames lent a golden warmth to her normally alabaster skin and the low light of the study made her eyes - half closed with pleasure - as black and fathomless as the night sky.
With her glorious mane of hair spilling around her shoulders and her creamy, gold-touched skin, she made an all together entrancing picture.
"See something you like?" the throaty chuckle told Helen that her observation was not unnoticed.
The scientist's first instinct was to give a gentle rejoinder and return to her book, letting Helena stay or go as she pleased. That aspect of their relationship - Helen's willingness to let the artificer simply be free - was one Helena appeared to value greatly and Helen had no intention of abusing it.
But there was an inviting sparkle in those endless eyes and an answering heat between her own legs and Helen Magnus was already learning that the apparent immortality of her new blood identity came with costs.
And what was living forever, if you weren't going to live?
This time it was Helen who placed the glass of scotch aside to be forgotten again. Undoing the tie of her robe, she slipped off the couch. Moving with deliberate intent, the scientist caught the delicate fingers that reached out to her, pinning them to the floor with her hand. The move made Helena take a swift breath and below Helen, coral-tipped nipples hardened in response.
"Yes," was all Magnus whispered as she let her other hand caress one perfect breast and caught Helena's mouth with her own.
"Yes I do."
And once again, Helen let the fire take her.
Return to Warehouse 13 Fiction
Return to Miscellaneous Fiction
Return to Main Page