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Femslash_land ficlet roundup
From the last couple months.
Don't own any of them, etc, etc. PG is probably the height.
Farscape/BSG, Aeryn/Kara (because someone has to write it); 200 words, as it wouldn't stay shorter. PG, for kissing.
"My prowler is faster."
The challenge in Aeryn's tone makes Kara lazy. Everyone challenges Starbuck; everyone loses. She leans across the table between them. "Prove it."
Neither of them is drunk, but the relaxed air in Joe's makes for interesting tensions. Aeryn shakes her head, forehead wrinkling. "It would be a waste of fuel."
Kara laughs--this hopeless search for Earth is the biggest waste of fuel she's ever seen. "You're just chicken," she taunts.
One eyebrow shoots up.
"Next CAP," Kara adds, not wanting Aeryn to wriggle out of it. "Prowler against viper."
"Winner take all?" suggests Aeryn, her eyebrow still raised.
Gambling, Kara leans further over the table, almost nose to nose with the other pilot. She lets her mouth climb up into a smirk. "Depends on the 'all'."
Aeryn smiles, and her hand reaches up to grip Kara's flight-suit.
They're kissing, and all Kara can think about is the strength in the fist practically pulling her over the table. Aeryn would be dynamite on a viper stick. All that controlled power and energy going nowhere fast. Pushing her luck, Kara brushes her tongue against Aeryn's lips, tasting the last of the ambrosia before she pulls back.
Lost Girl, Bo/Lauren (this was written before I saw past 2x3)
"You cooked for me." Lauren didn't add again, but the word was clearly in her tone. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Bo's cooking (better than Kenzi's, thank all that was hole).
Bo shrugged, suddenly looking self-conscious. "Yeah. Well, don't think this is all domestic or anything."
And that was why Lauren was startled by it--or at least confused. Bo may have forgiven her for all that had gone before, but they weren't. Well, they weren't dating or anything. So the cooking? Definitely odd. "I don't." Which Lauren felt might have been a lie, but she'd stick to the lie if need be.
"Good." Bo smiled. It was the I've just said something really stupid, but I don't want to admit it, oh, hey--Kenzi's over there! smile that she sometimes adopted when lost at sea with Fae protocols. "Look, Lauren--"
Reaching out her free hand, Lauren wrapped her fingers around Bo's wrist. "Thank you. I'm starving."
As simple as that, they both relaxed, Bo pulling Lauren to the couch, both of them sitting. Lauren tried to think of something articulate and ended up shoving a fork-full of pasta in her mouth. The taste flared along her tongue and she groaned happily. "This is so good."
"You're only saying that--" Bo cut herself off and looked away.
Tilting her head, Lauren nudged her with her elbow. "How'd that hunt for the Dooley go?"
It was the right thing to say; Bo became animated and sarcastic, talking with speed. It gave Lauren time to eat, to sit and absorb the quiet around Bo's words.
Something to store up for when she had to go back. The thought was buried an instant later, Lauren unwilling to consider things like fealty when Bo was laughing and carefree next to her. The ties that bound her to her way of life would, as always, be dealt with tomorrow.
-f-
Gen, getting arrested was the prompt.
"This is your fault." Bo was being quiet, but her words still carried.
From her perch on the table, Kenzi rolled her eyes. She didn't bother looking at Lauren, knowing the geeky scientist was probably agreeing with Bo. Something about wanting in Bo's pants made her susceptible to blaming Kenzi for everything. Most things.
Or maybe Lauren was more magnanimous than that.
"Oh, please. I am not the one who got all mojo-with-my-va-jay-jay."
Bo blew out a breath in a huff. "Hey. You asked me to ask some questions. I did."
"And then you got us busted." Kenzi waved a hand and groaned. "Why is there no alcohol?"
Lauren made a sound like she was going to answer that question, but then didn't say a word.
"It's jail, Kenzi," Bo said, as though explaining to a small, not-very-intelligent child. She leaned forward, as though emphasising her point. "There are rules."
"Rules. Suck."
Which was the whole reason they'd gotten arrested in the first place--but Kenzi was gonna argue with Bo over fault until she was blue in the face (she wondered if the Fae had a term for that that wasn't so lame-o)
BSG, Kara/Kat, post-Scar, PG for language (this didn't turn out as femslashy as I'd wanted. *shakes fist*)
Top Gun mug in hand, Kat swaggered down the corridor. Most of the people she passed either cat-called or cheered. Neither mattered, to her. She'd gotten what she wanted. Starbuck had been passed-by.
Letting out a whoop that was echoed by several of those around her, Kat ducked into the next open doorway. She was gonna savor this frakkin' victory in private. Quarters, but empty of the crew for the moment. "Yeah, baby," she muttered, kicking one of the half-rickety chairs away from the table and straddling it. She dropped with a whoosh of her own making and leaned back, half-staring back out the hatchway.
"You fall and break your neck, we're down one more pilot."
Of course it was frakking Starbuck who caught her.
Kat didn't move, letting her eyes roll as the mug waved in the air a little. She didn't want to think that she'd been hoping for Starbuck to wander by.
Pushing off from the lip of the hatch, Starbuck advanced, the swagger Kat had been copying perfected on her hips. "I'll win it back from you."
"Bullshit." The words were said with her own bravado, ready to go another round with the previously unbeatable. But Kat suddenly remembered that clear moment where fear had hold of her, and anger had bloodied Starbuck's mouth, and she pulled herself up-right. "The frak you want, Starbuck?"
A chair scraped and Starbuck made her own sound as she dropped into it. "Nothin'."
Kat didn't like to repeat herself. Anger and resentment pushed her up from her own chair, and she leaned over Starbuck. "Bullshit. You're here for scraps."
"Like you got anything I want."
"You followed me," Kat returned, raising the mug to her mouth and downing another swallow. That she hadn't spilled it before now was rather surprising.
For an instant, Starbuck's face was closed-in. Then she shook her head and stood, forcing Kat to move back or get knocked over. "Don't rely on luck, Katraine."
Pushing back into Starbuck's space, Kat smirked, "Don't gotta." She slapped a hand against the front of Starbuck's tanks. For some reason, she wanted to twist her fingers into them, yank the fabric from Starbuck's pants. She stopped herself, though. Ambrosia talking.
"Sure you don't." With another shake of her head, Starbuck moved, heading back through the hatch. All restless energy, but little swagger.
Kat watched her go, then drained the last of the alcohol and told herself to find a bunk to sleep it off in. No one would give a crap if the reigning Top Gun slept in someone else's bed. As long as it wasn't Starbuck's. Not that the idea was tempting, Kat told herself firmly.
B5, Susan/Talia
I could kiss her, Susan thinks. Just for a moment; she's tired and feeling strangely not herself and she looks at Talia and considers being reckless.
So easy to move towards her, to lean in and brush their lips together. Talia would taste the bitter coffee on Susan's breath. Perhaps she'd make some smart remark about the military and their timing. Susan feels her fingers curl a little, as though brushing them through Talia's hair.
Just a kiss, she thinks. Feather-light and brief. Just something shared between friends.
Susan closes her eyes, trying not to imagine it any further past their mouths.
"Falling asleep, Susan?"
For an instant, she wonders if Talia can hear. Of course, she never would, but Susan can't deny the stiffening in her spine at the perceived intrusion. Then all thoughts are banished, and she opens her eyes again to continue dealing with the ongoing crisis.
Leverage, Parker/Sophie
"We're not supposed to meet." Sophie says the words to what should be empty air. But there's that strange breeze coming from a window that wasn't open when she left that morning. The smell of coffee laced with caramel is as good as a finger-print, and she wonders if Parker would ever consider it a tell.
Then again, Parker never does anything without careful calculation (usually not for the human side, though). "I'm bored."
"Aren't we all," offers Sophie, her tone light as she switches on a lamp. Parker's curled in her over-stuffed chair, empty coffee cup dangling from her fingers. It shouldn't have been expected.
Parker looks up, a frown crossing her face. It leaves a slightly more alert look in its place.
The way Parker's back straightens is so tempting. There are over one hundred locations they could con or burgle over the night. Midnight could see them running across roof-tops, their breath frosting in the cool air. But that isn't what they're supposed to be doing. Sophie slumps a little and leans her hip against the island between kitchenette and living area. "We're supposed to be keeping low profiles."
"I came in the upstairs window. That's low. Ish."
Pushing off the island, Sophie thinks about camomile and cinnamon, but pulls out the jar of hot cocoa mix. "I'm afraid I'm out of marshmallows."
"That's all right." Parker is leaning across the island suddenly, grinning. "We can get some later."
At least she had a good night's sleep the night before, Sophie reminds herself as she turns on the electric kettle. She won't be entirely fresh come morning, but it's nice to have Parker around. Someone to talk to. Her eyes stray to Parker's mouth, and she smiles a little to herself. Or not talk to.
-f-
Don't own any of them, etc, etc. PG is probably the height.
Farscape/BSG, Aeryn/Kara (because someone has to write it); 200 words, as it wouldn't stay shorter. PG, for kissing.
"My prowler is faster."
The challenge in Aeryn's tone makes Kara lazy. Everyone challenges Starbuck; everyone loses. She leans across the table between them. "Prove it."
Neither of them is drunk, but the relaxed air in Joe's makes for interesting tensions. Aeryn shakes her head, forehead wrinkling. "It would be a waste of fuel."
Kara laughs--this hopeless search for Earth is the biggest waste of fuel she's ever seen. "You're just chicken," she taunts.
One eyebrow shoots up.
"Next CAP," Kara adds, not wanting Aeryn to wriggle out of it. "Prowler against viper."
"Winner take all?" suggests Aeryn, her eyebrow still raised.
Gambling, Kara leans further over the table, almost nose to nose with the other pilot. She lets her mouth climb up into a smirk. "Depends on the 'all'."
Aeryn smiles, and her hand reaches up to grip Kara's flight-suit.
They're kissing, and all Kara can think about is the strength in the fist practically pulling her over the table. Aeryn would be dynamite on a viper stick. All that controlled power and energy going nowhere fast. Pushing her luck, Kara brushes her tongue against Aeryn's lips, tasting the last of the ambrosia before she pulls back.
Lost Girl, Bo/Lauren (this was written before I saw past 2x3)
"You cooked for me." Lauren didn't add again, but the word was clearly in her tone. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Bo's cooking (better than Kenzi's, thank all that was hole).
Bo shrugged, suddenly looking self-conscious. "Yeah. Well, don't think this is all domestic or anything."
And that was why Lauren was startled by it--or at least confused. Bo may have forgiven her for all that had gone before, but they weren't. Well, they weren't dating or anything. So the cooking? Definitely odd. "I don't." Which Lauren felt might have been a lie, but she'd stick to the lie if need be.
"Good." Bo smiled. It was the I've just said something really stupid, but I don't want to admit it, oh, hey--Kenzi's over there! smile that she sometimes adopted when lost at sea with Fae protocols. "Look, Lauren--"
Reaching out her free hand, Lauren wrapped her fingers around Bo's wrist. "Thank you. I'm starving."
As simple as that, they both relaxed, Bo pulling Lauren to the couch, both of them sitting. Lauren tried to think of something articulate and ended up shoving a fork-full of pasta in her mouth. The taste flared along her tongue and she groaned happily. "This is so good."
"You're only saying that--" Bo cut herself off and looked away.
Tilting her head, Lauren nudged her with her elbow. "How'd that hunt for the Dooley go?"
It was the right thing to say; Bo became animated and sarcastic, talking with speed. It gave Lauren time to eat, to sit and absorb the quiet around Bo's words.
Something to store up for when she had to go back. The thought was buried an instant later, Lauren unwilling to consider things like fealty when Bo was laughing and carefree next to her. The ties that bound her to her way of life would, as always, be dealt with tomorrow.
-f-
Gen, getting arrested was the prompt.
"This is your fault." Bo was being quiet, but her words still carried.
From her perch on the table, Kenzi rolled her eyes. She didn't bother looking at Lauren, knowing the geeky scientist was probably agreeing with Bo. Something about wanting in Bo's pants made her susceptible to blaming Kenzi for everything. Most things.
Or maybe Lauren was more magnanimous than that.
"Oh, please. I am not the one who got all mojo-with-my-va-jay-jay."
Bo blew out a breath in a huff. "Hey. You asked me to ask some questions. I did."
"And then you got us busted." Kenzi waved a hand and groaned. "Why is there no alcohol?"
Lauren made a sound like she was going to answer that question, but then didn't say a word.
"It's jail, Kenzi," Bo said, as though explaining to a small, not-very-intelligent child. She leaned forward, as though emphasising her point. "There are rules."
"Rules. Suck."
Which was the whole reason they'd gotten arrested in the first place--but Kenzi was gonna argue with Bo over fault until she was blue in the face (she wondered if the Fae had a term for that that wasn't so lame-o)
BSG, Kara/Kat, post-Scar, PG for language (this didn't turn out as femslashy as I'd wanted. *shakes fist*)
Top Gun mug in hand, Kat swaggered down the corridor. Most of the people she passed either cat-called or cheered. Neither mattered, to her. She'd gotten what she wanted. Starbuck had been passed-by.
Letting out a whoop that was echoed by several of those around her, Kat ducked into the next open doorway. She was gonna savor this frakkin' victory in private. Quarters, but empty of the crew for the moment. "Yeah, baby," she muttered, kicking one of the half-rickety chairs away from the table and straddling it. She dropped with a whoosh of her own making and leaned back, half-staring back out the hatchway.
"You fall and break your neck, we're down one more pilot."
Of course it was frakking Starbuck who caught her.
Kat didn't move, letting her eyes roll as the mug waved in the air a little. She didn't want to think that she'd been hoping for Starbuck to wander by.
Pushing off from the lip of the hatch, Starbuck advanced, the swagger Kat had been copying perfected on her hips. "I'll win it back from you."
"Bullshit." The words were said with her own bravado, ready to go another round with the previously unbeatable. But Kat suddenly remembered that clear moment where fear had hold of her, and anger had bloodied Starbuck's mouth, and she pulled herself up-right. "The frak you want, Starbuck?"
A chair scraped and Starbuck made her own sound as she dropped into it. "Nothin'."
Kat didn't like to repeat herself. Anger and resentment pushed her up from her own chair, and she leaned over Starbuck. "Bullshit. You're here for scraps."
"Like you got anything I want."
"You followed me," Kat returned, raising the mug to her mouth and downing another swallow. That she hadn't spilled it before now was rather surprising.
For an instant, Starbuck's face was closed-in. Then she shook her head and stood, forcing Kat to move back or get knocked over. "Don't rely on luck, Katraine."
Pushing back into Starbuck's space, Kat smirked, "Don't gotta." She slapped a hand against the front of Starbuck's tanks. For some reason, she wanted to twist her fingers into them, yank the fabric from Starbuck's pants. She stopped herself, though. Ambrosia talking.
"Sure you don't." With another shake of her head, Starbuck moved, heading back through the hatch. All restless energy, but little swagger.
Kat watched her go, then drained the last of the alcohol and told herself to find a bunk to sleep it off in. No one would give a crap if the reigning Top Gun slept in someone else's bed. As long as it wasn't Starbuck's. Not that the idea was tempting, Kat told herself firmly.
B5, Susan/Talia
I could kiss her, Susan thinks. Just for a moment; she's tired and feeling strangely not herself and she looks at Talia and considers being reckless.
So easy to move towards her, to lean in and brush their lips together. Talia would taste the bitter coffee on Susan's breath. Perhaps she'd make some smart remark about the military and their timing. Susan feels her fingers curl a little, as though brushing them through Talia's hair.
Just a kiss, she thinks. Feather-light and brief. Just something shared between friends.
Susan closes her eyes, trying not to imagine it any further past their mouths.
"Falling asleep, Susan?"
For an instant, she wonders if Talia can hear. Of course, she never would, but Susan can't deny the stiffening in her spine at the perceived intrusion. Then all thoughts are banished, and she opens her eyes again to continue dealing with the ongoing crisis.
Leverage, Parker/Sophie
"We're not supposed to meet." Sophie says the words to what should be empty air. But there's that strange breeze coming from a window that wasn't open when she left that morning. The smell of coffee laced with caramel is as good as a finger-print, and she wonders if Parker would ever consider it a tell.
Then again, Parker never does anything without careful calculation (usually not for the human side, though). "I'm bored."
"Aren't we all," offers Sophie, her tone light as she switches on a lamp. Parker's curled in her over-stuffed chair, empty coffee cup dangling from her fingers. It shouldn't have been expected.
Parker looks up, a frown crossing her face. It leaves a slightly more alert look in its place.
The way Parker's back straightens is so tempting. There are over one hundred locations they could con or burgle over the night. Midnight could see them running across roof-tops, their breath frosting in the cool air. But that isn't what they're supposed to be doing. Sophie slumps a little and leans her hip against the island between kitchenette and living area. "We're supposed to be keeping low profiles."
"I came in the upstairs window. That's low. Ish."
Pushing off the island, Sophie thinks about camomile and cinnamon, but pulls out the jar of hot cocoa mix. "I'm afraid I'm out of marshmallows."
"That's all right." Parker is leaning across the island suddenly, grinning. "We can get some later."
At least she had a good night's sleep the night before, Sophie reminds herself as she turns on the electric kettle. She won't be entirely fresh come morning, but it's nice to have Parker around. Someone to talk to. Her eyes stray to Parker's mouth, and she smiles a little to herself. Or not talk to.
-f-
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It's a sign I should watch some TNG.
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