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Entry tags:
DW fic: Brushwork, River/Liz X, PG13
disclaimer: not mine.
pairing: I appear to have committed River Song/Liz X
spoilers: Pandorica Opens, Beast Below
rating: PG13? off-screen sexytimes, kissing
length: 1300 (I was aiming for drabble, really)
notes: I really did try to make it past tense. (I am too tired to go back over it again with a fine-toothed comb. This will probably bite me on the ass tomorrow, with some horrific combinations of words)
summary: River and Liz Ten have an afternoon of restoring paintings and sex.
Brushwork
by ALC Punk!
"We have got to stop meeting like this." The words are light, uncaring.
Liz gives a soft laugh, but doesn't remove her gun from the small of River's back. "I thought you were only here for one painting."
A shrug that ends with River twisted around, Liz's gun hand knocked to the side and River half-smiles, "If I tried to explain it to you..."
"Time travel," Liz says, her other gun pressing against River's ribs, just below the rather magnificently-cut shirt she's wearing. Liz steps closer, not really caring to resist. There's a vibrant vitality to this woman that makes her feel ancient and young at the same time.
"That's a guess," murmurs River, not stepping back.
Liz drops her hand, gun sliding into the holster with a click. "That's a certainty," she murmurs, hand coming up to touch River's cheek. There's a fascination in her gaze, candid appreciation and something else.
"I'll remember that, for the next time," River replies, turning her head to brush her lips over Liz's fingers.
The sensation is not unpleasant. Still, Liz pulls her hand back, "I suppose this is about him, as well." Imperious again, she steps back, her cape sweeping out as she turns away from River, marches towards the painting she'd been putting back up with the sound of movement pulled her away.
"It could be." River sounds careless as she follows. Her hand touches Liz's shoulder. "Could you use some help with that?"
The royal archives are in a sorry state, and Liz wants to shout to the ceilings (vaulted, dusty, far overhead and barely seen) that she is queen (was), and thus needs no help. Delegation, they have always said, is the surest sign of majesty. "How many were you planning to steal while helping?"
"Oh, a few, here and there."
Such candor makes her laugh, and Liz almost tips a smile at River. "We have the long gallery to do first."
River nods. "Which end should I hold up?"
-=-
They spend hours hanging and cleaning what they can. River shows a dexterity in removing decades of grime that makes Liz wonder if she should hire her full time for restoration work. It's different, with more lights on, and the paintings hung correctly. The long gallery feels almost like it should.
But it's not enough, and Liz sighs as they lean against the far wall, watching the light halfway down flicker.
That bulb will have to be replaced. If there are spares. Liz isn't sure, at the moment, if there are any. Perhaps that will go on her next list of materials to barter for.
"You've a beautiful collection."
"Shame it's been neglected," Liz replies, sarcasm in her tone.
River shrugs one shoulder, "Wasn't your fault. History records--"
"Bugger history," rude and feeling angry at the past she can't change, Liz pulls away from the wall and heads for the middle of the gallery, determined to see which painting is being slighted by bad electrical connections.
It's a Rembrandt, something with swords and men standing round. Liz glares at it before turning back to look down the gallery. River hasn't moved. "Are you staying for the entire restoration? Just waiting your moment?"
"No." River slowly comes towards her, eyes oddly serious. "I was meant to leave swiftly--" she looks around, her eyes sad, but intrigued. "All of this... So much history. I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see it live, as it were."
Not satisfied, but certain she won't get an answer, Liz moves away again. "We should wash our hands before lunch."
"Ooh, we get fed, do we?" River follows her, steps quick.
-=-
They don't talk while they eat, both lost in their own thoughts. River shares a bar of chocolate for dessert, and Liz savors the taste on her tongue, closing her eyes as it slides down her throat. Chocolate is a very rare commodity, these days. Almost worse than coffee (Liz barely remembers coffee). She drinks her water, washing the taste away and leans back to stare up at the ceiling.
"It'll have to be cleaned," River remarks, looking up as well.
"The chandelier first, then maybe we strip the whole ceiling out." Though why they would, Liz doesn't know. But it's something to say, and there are shadows she doesn't want to think about.
"Waste of a ceiling. Still, it is a lot of effort for something so frivolous. But then again, when the world has ended..."
"Every little extravagance matters." The chocolate taste still at the back of her throat tastes like ashes now. Liz cleans her fingers with her napkin, wondering why she hasn't had this woman arrested yet.
"It does. It reminds you you're alive. Human." River half-smiles and leans towards her. "You're not at fault."
Liz feels a shiver slide down her spine, whether from River's proximity or that she knew the truth about the things Liz had done (forgetting over and over again) didn't matter. She drew her eyebrows up and said, sharply, "I'm the queen of England. Of course I'm ultimately responsible."
"Are you, though? Everyone makes their own choices." A world of sadness shadows River's eyes and then she looks away. "I should go. Probably."
For a fleeting instant, Liz makes a choice. Her hand cups River's cheek and she leans in, kissing her mouth gently. "Thank you. For the help."
"Is that all?" River's hand brushes Liz's, their fingers sliding between each other.
Choice. For just a moment, a short while, Liz feels the sudden urge to forget who she is. "No."
They're still kissing when River slides her hands under Liz's shirt. Fire burns where her fingers stroke, and Liz has her wish. She forgets who she is, where she is, as her body gives in to River's insistant touch.
-=-
Afterwards, Liz stares up at the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the dust and cobwebs, and wonders if forgetting should be allowable, given the state of her nation. River kisses her neck and chuckles, though the sound isn't unkind.
"You have to go."
"I rather think you're the one who needs to go," River murmurs, slowly pulling away before she sits up. Her hair has come down, the curls every which way and Liz resists the urge to grab for them and pull her back down. "Your people need you, your majesty."
"Do they?" Bitter, Liz joins her in being up-right, wishing River wasn't buttoning and zipping things up. "I thought my paintings did."
"Oh, those do, as well." River flashes her a smirk, "If I leave you any, that is."
Liz finds her hand on her gun, fingers itching to pull it free of holster and the entangling fabric of her cape. It doesn't matter what has recently passed between them. Treasures of her country are no laughing matter. "I could have you arrested."
"You could." River agrees.
Something in her eyes makes Liz relax again, "But you're bluffing anyway."
"Perhaps."
"And perhaps not?" Beginning to get a firm grasp of this woman, Liz stretches before putting her own clothing to rights. River helps her get the holsters properly in place, kneeling as Liz stands before her.
Unable to resist the urge, Liz reaches down, fingers brushing over River's hair, "I could order you to do so many things."
"I've never been one for orders."
Several replies tangle themselves up while River finishes and stands, adjusting her own belt and holster. Liz half-smiles. "Somehow, I'm unsurprised."
River kisses her, then, mouth warm and sweet, tasting of chocolate.
"You'll bring more chocolate, when you return," Liz says. And it's almost an order.
River raises her brows, "I suppose I should." Her watch beeps, and she glances at it, muttering something in a language Liz can't place. "I've got to go."
"But you'll be back," predicts Liz.
An enigmatic smile crosses River's lips. "Yes. Perhaps I shall."
When she's disappeared down the gallery, Liz makes her way after her, slowly watching the paintings watch her as she glides past. This is a start. Tomorrow, she will see if there are any historians interested in resurrecting the royal collection.
She stops in front of the Rembrandt, frowning thoughtfully. And perhaps she'll find out if any can recognize a fake.
-f-
pairing: I appear to have committed River Song/Liz X
spoilers: Pandorica Opens, Beast Below
rating: PG13? off-screen sexytimes, kissing
length: 1300 (I was aiming for drabble, really)
notes: I really did try to make it past tense. (I am too tired to go back over it again with a fine-toothed comb. This will probably bite me on the ass tomorrow, with some horrific combinations of words)
summary: River and Liz Ten have an afternoon of restoring paintings and sex.
Brushwork
by ALC Punk!
"We have got to stop meeting like this." The words are light, uncaring.
Liz gives a soft laugh, but doesn't remove her gun from the small of River's back. "I thought you were only here for one painting."
A shrug that ends with River twisted around, Liz's gun hand knocked to the side and River half-smiles, "If I tried to explain it to you..."
"Time travel," Liz says, her other gun pressing against River's ribs, just below the rather magnificently-cut shirt she's wearing. Liz steps closer, not really caring to resist. There's a vibrant vitality to this woman that makes her feel ancient and young at the same time.
"That's a guess," murmurs River, not stepping back.
Liz drops her hand, gun sliding into the holster with a click. "That's a certainty," she murmurs, hand coming up to touch River's cheek. There's a fascination in her gaze, candid appreciation and something else.
"I'll remember that, for the next time," River replies, turning her head to brush her lips over Liz's fingers.
The sensation is not unpleasant. Still, Liz pulls her hand back, "I suppose this is about him, as well." Imperious again, she steps back, her cape sweeping out as she turns away from River, marches towards the painting she'd been putting back up with the sound of movement pulled her away.
"It could be." River sounds careless as she follows. Her hand touches Liz's shoulder. "Could you use some help with that?"
The royal archives are in a sorry state, and Liz wants to shout to the ceilings (vaulted, dusty, far overhead and barely seen) that she is queen (was), and thus needs no help. Delegation, they have always said, is the surest sign of majesty. "How many were you planning to steal while helping?"
"Oh, a few, here and there."
Such candor makes her laugh, and Liz almost tips a smile at River. "We have the long gallery to do first."
River nods. "Which end should I hold up?"
-=-
They spend hours hanging and cleaning what they can. River shows a dexterity in removing decades of grime that makes Liz wonder if she should hire her full time for restoration work. It's different, with more lights on, and the paintings hung correctly. The long gallery feels almost like it should.
But it's not enough, and Liz sighs as they lean against the far wall, watching the light halfway down flicker.
That bulb will have to be replaced. If there are spares. Liz isn't sure, at the moment, if there are any. Perhaps that will go on her next list of materials to barter for.
"You've a beautiful collection."
"Shame it's been neglected," Liz replies, sarcasm in her tone.
River shrugs one shoulder, "Wasn't your fault. History records--"
"Bugger history," rude and feeling angry at the past she can't change, Liz pulls away from the wall and heads for the middle of the gallery, determined to see which painting is being slighted by bad electrical connections.
It's a Rembrandt, something with swords and men standing round. Liz glares at it before turning back to look down the gallery. River hasn't moved. "Are you staying for the entire restoration? Just waiting your moment?"
"No." River slowly comes towards her, eyes oddly serious. "I was meant to leave swiftly--" she looks around, her eyes sad, but intrigued. "All of this... So much history. I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see it live, as it were."
Not satisfied, but certain she won't get an answer, Liz moves away again. "We should wash our hands before lunch."
"Ooh, we get fed, do we?" River follows her, steps quick.
-=-
They don't talk while they eat, both lost in their own thoughts. River shares a bar of chocolate for dessert, and Liz savors the taste on her tongue, closing her eyes as it slides down her throat. Chocolate is a very rare commodity, these days. Almost worse than coffee (Liz barely remembers coffee). She drinks her water, washing the taste away and leans back to stare up at the ceiling.
"It'll have to be cleaned," River remarks, looking up as well.
"The chandelier first, then maybe we strip the whole ceiling out." Though why they would, Liz doesn't know. But it's something to say, and there are shadows she doesn't want to think about.
"Waste of a ceiling. Still, it is a lot of effort for something so frivolous. But then again, when the world has ended..."
"Every little extravagance matters." The chocolate taste still at the back of her throat tastes like ashes now. Liz cleans her fingers with her napkin, wondering why she hasn't had this woman arrested yet.
"It does. It reminds you you're alive. Human." River half-smiles and leans towards her. "You're not at fault."
Liz feels a shiver slide down her spine, whether from River's proximity or that she knew the truth about the things Liz had done (forgetting over and over again) didn't matter. She drew her eyebrows up and said, sharply, "I'm the queen of England. Of course I'm ultimately responsible."
"Are you, though? Everyone makes their own choices." A world of sadness shadows River's eyes and then she looks away. "I should go. Probably."
For a fleeting instant, Liz makes a choice. Her hand cups River's cheek and she leans in, kissing her mouth gently. "Thank you. For the help."
"Is that all?" River's hand brushes Liz's, their fingers sliding between each other.
Choice. For just a moment, a short while, Liz feels the sudden urge to forget who she is. "No."
They're still kissing when River slides her hands under Liz's shirt. Fire burns where her fingers stroke, and Liz has her wish. She forgets who she is, where she is, as her body gives in to River's insistant touch.
-=-
Afterwards, Liz stares up at the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the dust and cobwebs, and wonders if forgetting should be allowable, given the state of her nation. River kisses her neck and chuckles, though the sound isn't unkind.
"You have to go."
"I rather think you're the one who needs to go," River murmurs, slowly pulling away before she sits up. Her hair has come down, the curls every which way and Liz resists the urge to grab for them and pull her back down. "Your people need you, your majesty."
"Do they?" Bitter, Liz joins her in being up-right, wishing River wasn't buttoning and zipping things up. "I thought my paintings did."
"Oh, those do, as well." River flashes her a smirk, "If I leave you any, that is."
Liz finds her hand on her gun, fingers itching to pull it free of holster and the entangling fabric of her cape. It doesn't matter what has recently passed between them. Treasures of her country are no laughing matter. "I could have you arrested."
"You could." River agrees.
Something in her eyes makes Liz relax again, "But you're bluffing anyway."
"Perhaps."
"And perhaps not?" Beginning to get a firm grasp of this woman, Liz stretches before putting her own clothing to rights. River helps her get the holsters properly in place, kneeling as Liz stands before her.
Unable to resist the urge, Liz reaches down, fingers brushing over River's hair, "I could order you to do so many things."
"I've never been one for orders."
Several replies tangle themselves up while River finishes and stands, adjusting her own belt and holster. Liz half-smiles. "Somehow, I'm unsurprised."
River kisses her, then, mouth warm and sweet, tasting of chocolate.
"You'll bring more chocolate, when you return," Liz says. And it's almost an order.
River raises her brows, "I suppose I should." Her watch beeps, and she glances at it, muttering something in a language Liz can't place. "I've got to go."
"But you'll be back," predicts Liz.
An enigmatic smile crosses River's lips. "Yes. Perhaps I shall."
When she's disappeared down the gallery, Liz makes her way after her, slowly watching the paintings watch her as she glides past. This is a start. Tomorrow, she will see if there are any historians interested in resurrecting the royal collection.
She stops in front of the Rembrandt, frowning thoughtfully. And perhaps she'll find out if any can recognize a fake.
-f-
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That. Yes, that, exactly.
Delightful and hot and wonderful. ♥
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Thank you!
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And perhaps she'll find out if any can recognize a fake.
hee!
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It is hard for her not to be all of those, her kingdom is (or was) running low on supplies.
And I do not know that River went around stealing more paintings, but perhaps she was trying to preserve them. =D
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Unable to resist the urge, Liz reaches down, fingers brushing over River's hair, "I could order you to do so many things."
"I've never been one for orders."
Hawt.
I'm a few episodes behind, so haven't seen "Pandorica Opens" yet. But even so, this is great; and knowing Liz 10 will reappear is a nice bonus.
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Thank you! =D
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Thank you! =D
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