Posts tagged my fic!
Posts tagged my fic!
“You are a summer’s girl, aren’t you?” Drusilla asked. She touched her fingertips to the edge of Buffy’s dress, ghosting them along her strong, trembling thighs and dragging the garment over her head in one smooth, unceremonious motion. “You’re made of honey,” Drusilla said, “and sunlight over a field, burning; you burn.” She touched the girl’s neck, scraped the nail of her thumb along the racing pulse point, gently, though, so as not to break skin. The girl trembled again, a leaf on a branch at the end of the season, tasting the chill on the air and fighting it. Drusilla eyes slipped slowly over Buffy in the dark – so young, so new, a body perfect and unblemished and at odds in its purity with the lost, broken look in the Slayer’s eyes. Drusilla did not feel pity. She did not feel tenderness. But she touched the girl gently all the same, her nails scraping lightly now over the thin cotton of Buffy’s bra, watching in wonder as the skin there puckered and pebbled up, and a shudder ran down the girl’s body like rain.
Oh, look. I wrote porn.
Somebody write the fic to go with this. Preferably before I melt.
Irene is not quite clear why they bring him to her after he tries and fails for the second time to take over the world, but she’s certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She smirks a little at the unintended pun and circles around him, catlike, appreciating the green against his skin, and the way he keeps his eyes down. She likes the contrast of his black hair against his fair coloring - it reminds her of someone else she knew a long time ago. Part of her wishes he’d look up so she could see his eyes, but oh, he’s just so delicious all contrite and beaten. It’s a good quality in a man. She stops her circle directly in front of him and glides the pointed toe of one of her stilettos from his knee to his thigh and the boy doesn’t so much as flinch. Oh. A challenge.
“It’s a little bit funny, don’t you think?” she muses. “How you wanted everyone to kneel. How you said it was the thing for which we were created.” She wants to put her fingers under his chin, to tip his face up and see if he’ll meet her eyes, but she doesn’t. Not yet.
“And look at you now.” She’s so eager she almost licks her lips but settles instead for a reproachful cluck of her tongue. “I love it.”
Power radiates off of this one, but the chains she’s got him in are more than enough to keep him in check. His skin is smooth; he looks like he’s been carved from something, but he would, wouldn’t he, being a god? The snake resting around her shoulders dips an impatient tongue into her ear, and she turns to press her lips to his nose, a gentle refusal. No. Not for this one, no venom would touch him. Not yet, anyway. Not unless he was a very good boy.
She’s played with presidents and prime ministers, had flirted once with a Pope and once with a consulting detective and it was hard to say which rebuff was more surprising (but not which was more disappointing). She had tied up a Duchess and made her beg before she made her come, but she’d never had the good fortune to have a god at her disposal. And the god of mischief, too. Well, say what you would about Miss Irene Adler, but one thing was unfailingly true: she did so like to misbehave.
Sam nodded, sticking her tongue out to lick a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “Blew his brains out,” she said. “At least, that’s what Shadow told me.” She shrugged.
“Wow,” Darcy said idly. “I like our universe better.”
The girls were sitting at the bar in the Coffee House. The whole place was dark except for the light coming from the kitchen, where Thor was banging around, fixing them a smörgåsbord of bizarre midnight snacks. Darcy reached for another Pop-Tart and snorted as Thor held up a spoon full of fudge and let it dribble down slowly. Some of it landed on his chest, which was spectacularly bare, except for where it was obscured by a (tiny, on him) pink apron. She loved it when he lost bets.
She stole a glance at Sam, who was watching just as appreciatively, her eyebrows raised and a little smile tugging at her lips. Thor swiped at the chocolate on his chest and put his finger in his mouth, oblivious, as always, to the reactions he was causing.
“Unf,” Sam said. “I mean generally I prefer chicks but hot damn.”
“The god of thunder, ladies and gentlemen.”
“You’re a lucky girl. Hats off to you.”
Darcy nodded graciously. Then she stood up and leaned over the counter, looking suddenly anxious.
“He likes it!” Darcy explained. “The fudge. Hey! Hammerhead! Don’t throw the -“
“I like it! Another!”
“I don’t really like summer,” Molly said, slapping at her forearm and frowning. “All these bugs. I’m very allergic.” Then she looked up, her eyes wide, as if she were afraid she had mortally offended him, as if he had brought the ants and the mosquitoes to the picnic as honored guests and she had spit in their gazpacho.
“Not that this isn’t nice!” she stammered. “It is. And no one’s ever taken me on a picnic before…It’s just -” She flicked an ant off her skirt and sighed. “Well I don’t really like all these crawling things. But, um.” She winced and ducked her head as she heard something buzz by her ear, then started scratching absently but vigorously at her shoulder. Her pale skin was turning red; she was scratching so hard she’d almost caused an abrasion. Then, perhaps so distracted by the onslaught of her insect assailants that she forgot propriety altogether, she scratched at her side right near the underwire of her bra. She caught herself after a few seconds and looked up, sheepish, her face and neck going a delightful shade of pink. While she had been fidgeting and fighting her losing battle, Greg had been packing up the lunch he’d made.
“Oh!” Molly cried. “We don’t have to leave!”
“You look miserable, pet,” Greg said, smiling at her. She bit her bottom lip, looking guilty, so he leaned in and kissed her and then bit it for her. She made a sound that was split three ways between a laugh, a whimper, and protest.
“But it’s so pretty out and you love it here and…”
He kissed her again and never did learn what her next excuse would be.
“…such a nice lunch…” Her objection this time was more than a little half-hearted, he thought; she didn’t even attempt to make it into a sentence.
“We can eat it on the living room floor in my bug-free flat.”
She still looked hesitant.
“And afterwards there will be calamine lotion and aloe and ice.”
She smiled then, crookedly.
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
It’s here, but 22drunkb is my favorite blog, anyway :) THANK YOU for reading :)
221 words on Sherlock’s first kiss.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
Katharine was the younger sister of one of Mycroft’s friends, who, really, Sherlock knew, was only friends with Mycroft because his mother was friends with Mummy. Mycroft couldn’t stand the boy, but unlike Sherlock, he had the…
Lovely, sweet fic about Sherlock’s first kiss! I love stories that paint a clearer picture of Sherlock’s past. And this one is particularly sweet. There is a little girl who, in some ways, seems to resemble Sherlock — she doesn’t even mind touching insects to help him with an experiment! But then she is sexually precocious, and Sherlock, always being curious, wants to know what it’s like to kiss someone. Especially if it’s something that Mycroft may not have done. (Good luck, there, Sherlock, with a brother who is 7 years older!)
Thanks for sharing, 22drunkb. (sorry, I know there’s another tumblr name for you, but I’m not sure of what it is!)