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Entry tags:
fic. rpf. femslash.
Honestly, I know only kind of where this came from. And at the moment, it's rough and I'm not sure what I think of it. Maybe I'll hate it in the morning.
I fully blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pirateygoodness.
I've probably mangled Morena's last name. This was the result of a conversation during SG-1 earlier this evening.
RPF.
No title. 800 words.
Non-explicit femslash.
Morena Baccarin/Katee Sackhoff
She'd just wanted something not confining and ornate.
Morena reflected that, if she ever got a chance to give her agent what-for after this, she might end up firing him. If she survived getting shot at by Cylons. Not that they were real Cylons, of course. They were tennis balls and rods and remote-controlled guns. The props master had explained twice why it was impossible that she'd be injured.
It wasn't comforting.
Jeans, she'd asked for. Jeans and a t-shirt. Or maybe sweat pants. And had he listened? No, he'd sent her a script with a part on another science fiction show, and he'd said it was getting rave reviews and would help her career--
He hadn't said anything about getting shot at, and Morena's pretty sure he should have (or maybe she should have asked, but she'd expected him to tell her things like that).
And it's not like it's all getting shot at. She has one scene with some guy named Starbuck, and there's a sense of camaraderie amongst the crew that remind her why she keeps doing this stupid science fiction gig--Stargate and Firefly were like this, too.
Not that she's bothering to analyze that, she just knows she likes feeling like a part of a family.
Commotion, and with the sudden onslaught of wind in the trees, the director calls it quits for the day, leaving her to stand there, covered in dirt and sweat, wondering what the hell she's supposed to do now.
At a loss, because she's not sure what to do with herself (a shower sounds nice), she stands there in the dirt and watching the rain start to approach. Around her, the crew laugh and break things down, packing up with an efficiency the US army would envy.
Sound from the side makes her turn, which means the girl jogging across the clearing, calling something over her shoulder slams straight into her.
Morena hits the dirt, and winces.
"Damn--sorry," a hand hauls her back to her feet, and the blonde woman dusts her down, apologizing again.
"Look--" Morena starts.
"No, all my fault. I trip over my own feet--just ask Trucco, he's always having to catch me." The young woman is shorter than Morena, built differently. But she's beaming like she's amused at the world, and thinks everyone should be.
"Look--buy me dinner to apologize, and we'll call it even."
"'K."
Which is how Morena finds herself in a booth opposite Katee Sackhoff. There's wine and something steak-like, but she's not really concentrating on it, because Katee never really stops laughing. She talks with her hands and laughs too much and her body language is conflicting.
They talk about everything and nothing, until Katee excuses herself to the restroom.
Morena follows her, and when Katee turns from the sink, she follows her instinct, too, leaning down and kissing the other woman.
For just a second, she thinks she got it wrong.
But Katee's laughing into her mouth, smelling of wine and ketchup and catching Morena's lower lip between her teeth.
"I--we should--" Morena stops talking to suck Katee's tongue into her mouth, letting out a murmur of surprise when Katee's hands slip under her shirt.
Pulling back is hard, but she is not doing this here. Not now. Shaky breath and she's grateful for too many hours of posture lessons and hours standing in fittings. "I'll go pay for dinner if you want to call us both cabs."
There's only one cab when she gets out, and Katee swears there was only one. And it's a lie, but Morena doesn't care because Katee's hand is on her thigh before they're two blocks from the restaurant. She's just wearing slacks and a nice shirt, and far too much dirt from the day, but Katee makes it feel like she's in silk and satin.
It's Katee's place, and Katee's bed and Katee's mouth that drive Morena to distraction until half past three. Then, stretched out and sated, she wonders whether this was such a good idea.
Tomorrow, she'll have to go back to work and get shot at more.
"Go to sleep," Katee suggests.
"I can't." Kissing the other woman gently, she slides from the bed, "I have to go finish cribbing my script. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe."
Katee smiles wistfully in the dim light--there was a hall, Morena notices. She missed it on the way in, but Katee left the light on (she'd said she liked watching). It makes it easy to dress. Katee watches in silence, and only gets up when she has her shoes in hand.
"I'll call you a cab."
"Thank you."
Yes. Tomorrow, she'll go back to not wearing ornate clothing, to being just another (fake) soldier.
Maybe the day after, she'll fire her agent.
-f-
I fully blame
pirateygoodness. I've probably mangled Morena's last name. This was the result of a conversation during SG-1 earlier this evening.
RPF.
No title. 800 words.
Non-explicit femslash.
Morena Baccarin/Katee Sackhoff
She'd just wanted something not confining and ornate.
Morena reflected that, if she ever got a chance to give her agent what-for after this, she might end up firing him. If she survived getting shot at by Cylons. Not that they were real Cylons, of course. They were tennis balls and rods and remote-controlled guns. The props master had explained twice why it was impossible that she'd be injured.
It wasn't comforting.
Jeans, she'd asked for. Jeans and a t-shirt. Or maybe sweat pants. And had he listened? No, he'd sent her a script with a part on another science fiction show, and he'd said it was getting rave reviews and would help her career--
He hadn't said anything about getting shot at, and Morena's pretty sure he should have (or maybe she should have asked, but she'd expected him to tell her things like that).
And it's not like it's all getting shot at. She has one scene with some guy named Starbuck, and there's a sense of camaraderie amongst the crew that remind her why she keeps doing this stupid science fiction gig--Stargate and Firefly were like this, too.
Not that she's bothering to analyze that, she just knows she likes feeling like a part of a family.
Commotion, and with the sudden onslaught of wind in the trees, the director calls it quits for the day, leaving her to stand there, covered in dirt and sweat, wondering what the hell she's supposed to do now.
At a loss, because she's not sure what to do with herself (a shower sounds nice), she stands there in the dirt and watching the rain start to approach. Around her, the crew laugh and break things down, packing up with an efficiency the US army would envy.
Sound from the side makes her turn, which means the girl jogging across the clearing, calling something over her shoulder slams straight into her.
Morena hits the dirt, and winces.
"Damn--sorry," a hand hauls her back to her feet, and the blonde woman dusts her down, apologizing again.
"Look--" Morena starts.
"No, all my fault. I trip over my own feet--just ask Trucco, he's always having to catch me." The young woman is shorter than Morena, built differently. But she's beaming like she's amused at the world, and thinks everyone should be.
"Look--buy me dinner to apologize, and we'll call it even."
"'K."
Which is how Morena finds herself in a booth opposite Katee Sackhoff. There's wine and something steak-like, but she's not really concentrating on it, because Katee never really stops laughing. She talks with her hands and laughs too much and her body language is conflicting.
They talk about everything and nothing, until Katee excuses herself to the restroom.
Morena follows her, and when Katee turns from the sink, she follows her instinct, too, leaning down and kissing the other woman.
For just a second, she thinks she got it wrong.
But Katee's laughing into her mouth, smelling of wine and ketchup and catching Morena's lower lip between her teeth.
"I--we should--" Morena stops talking to suck Katee's tongue into her mouth, letting out a murmur of surprise when Katee's hands slip under her shirt.
Pulling back is hard, but she is not doing this here. Not now. Shaky breath and she's grateful for too many hours of posture lessons and hours standing in fittings. "I'll go pay for dinner if you want to call us both cabs."
There's only one cab when she gets out, and Katee swears there was only one. And it's a lie, but Morena doesn't care because Katee's hand is on her thigh before they're two blocks from the restaurant. She's just wearing slacks and a nice shirt, and far too much dirt from the day, but Katee makes it feel like she's in silk and satin.
It's Katee's place, and Katee's bed and Katee's mouth that drive Morena to distraction until half past three. Then, stretched out and sated, she wonders whether this was such a good idea.
Tomorrow, she'll have to go back to work and get shot at more.
"Go to sleep," Katee suggests.
"I can't." Kissing the other woman gently, she slides from the bed, "I have to go finish cribbing my script. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe."
Katee smiles wistfully in the dim light--there was a hall, Morena notices. She missed it on the way in, but Katee left the light on (she'd said she liked watching). It makes it easy to dress. Katee watches in silence, and only gets up when she has her shoes in hand.
"I'll call you a cab."
"Thank you."
Yes. Tomorrow, she'll go back to not wearing ornate clothing, to being just another (fake) soldier.
Maybe the day after, she'll fire her agent.
-f-
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Thank you =)
She should show up in more things.