![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ficlets roundup. Mostly femslash, multi-fandom, G-soft R
Disclaimer: None of these properties belong to me in any shape or form. Sadly.
I don't think any of these have been posted, but it's been a while since the last round-up, so I think I'm all right (and if there's duplicates, I don't think it matters in the long run).
About 2400 words total (which includes cut tag text, too)
Ritchie's Holmes movies, Irene Adler/Mary Morstan, PG
-
There was a rhythm to every dance, a series of touches and holds, releases and turns. For Mary (clad most respectably in a blue-striped satin gown), there was no moment when she wasn't on guard. Too lingering a touch, too quick a touch, and the game could be up. Still, she looked through her lashes at the men she danced with, flirted with them perspiscaciously, and allowed them nothing of herself.
Until the waltz started up, and a hand she wasn't expecting claimed hers. They never danced too close, though Mary could feel the pressure of Irene's hand pulling her that much closer. She easily resisted. Even in her gentlemen's garb, it would be improper to dance so close to another.
Where their hands clasped each other, heat spread.
Irene was smiling as they swirled through another turn, and Mary tightened her fingers on the superfine coat that she wore. "My dear," Mary murmured, "I was not expecting you this evening."
"No?" As the music came to a close, Irene pulled them off the floor and through the crowd. There was commotion near the doorway, a cry about thievery on the far side of the room. Then they were in the corridor, hand in hand as Irene led the way.
Out of breath, Mary pulled a halt to their hasty run once they'd escaped through a side door and passed through several streets. She was laughing, her head back, her breath frosting the air when Irene kissed her.
"You were almost too obvious, darling," Irene whispered against her ear before pulling away and smiling.
Mary snorted and linked their arms together to begin the walk back to her lodgings. "You've always said that hiding in plain sight was far easier than the shadows."
"I suppose I have," Irene's arm went round Mary's waist, pulling her closer. "But," she added, "Your reticule did seem to get larger and larger as the evening went on."
A whistle sounded in the distance, but neither quickened their steps. Few would remember them, after all, and fewer still would connect the elegantly-clad Mary Morstan with the missing jewels and money. She was a woman, after all.
X-Family, Kitty Pryde/Rachel Summers, soft R
-
They're older now, of course. It's harder to play the game of "Do you remember", when there's so much time and distance between them. Old memories aren't the easiest to deal with. But it's still easy to fall into each other.
Kitty once kissed Rachel out of curiosity and innocence, now she does it with practice, dexterity, and a certain fervor that always leaves them breathless.
Old friends, new lovers--Rachel picks the stray thought from the air and laughs, mouth against Kitty's throat.
"Don't tease," Kitty says, arching up. She's breathless and willing (just how Ray used to like 'em, before Kitty's innocence). Her hands are already inside Rachel's leathers, despite being told she's supposed to wait.
Telekinetic bonds trap her wrists, pulling them down and out. Pinned to the bed, Kitty makes a disgruntled noise. She could escape easily, but that would ruin the game. Rachel sucks hard at the hollow of Kitty's throat, lips pressing and searching until she finds the flutter over Kitty's heartbeat.
Hickeys feel so high school, but Kitty doesn't care--she's an adult, and if Piotr or Scott want to give her disapproving looks, she knows others who won't.
"Ray--" Kitty's protest breaks off on a high note as Rachel uses her telekinesis in a way that it probably wasn't meant for.
Satisfaction floats between them, and Kitty tries to keep her wits about her. It's going to be a long night.
SG-1, Sam/Vala, PG
-
Vala bounced. Or bounded. Sam was always trying to decide which verb worked better for the alien woman when she entered Sam's lab.
"It's lunchtime. There's pie," Vala would announce, beaming and leaning her elbows on Sam's workbench.
Usually deep in an experiment, notes, or plotting a new theory, Sam would invariably mumble something abstract in dismissal.
That was never enough for Vala.
She would slide around the desk, pushing into Sam's personal space like a niggling itch at the back of her neck that she couldn't get rid of. "Lunch, Samantha," Vala would say, drawling Sam's name out like some sort of bait on a fish-hook.
If she were feeling extra gregarious, Vala would nudge Sam with a shoulder, her hip or grab for her pen.
Any of those actions could cause... accidents.
Like the time Vala's hip-bump knocked the beaker Sam was pouring from out of her hand. Sam had turned and hauled Vala to the floor, ducking under the work surface as the sound of breaking glass was drowned out by a loud explosion.
The General hadn't been pleased about having to pay for a new lab. Sam had laid the blame at the door of unstable naquadria, and apologized profusely.
But usually, it wasn't so dangerous to interrupt Sam (and Vala had been much more careful, ever since).
Invariably, Sam would take more convincing than a firm interruption. Vala had become adept at that, too, knowing which angles the lab cameras couldn't cover, her hands would grope Sam in places that would make her jump, yelp, giggle or slap at Vala (sometimes all four). It didn't take much prodding once Vala moved to nefarious means.
Lunch was always at a quick pace, both of them flushed and breathless.
After all, lunch required an appetite, and both of them knew exactly which storage room had the faulty camera.
-f-
Buffy, Buffy/Faith, PG
-
In. Out. Faith breathes in rhythm with Buffy. It feels like a stupid, pointless exercise. Giles loves those, suggesting them with a stuffy, superior air about him. But something about that stuffiness has kept Buffy alive (well, mostly), so Faith puts up with it. Maybe she'll learn from him what it is that makes Buffy so special.
Maybe she won't.
Breathing like this, she can smell the sweat on her own skin, the stench of unwashed gym socks drifting in through the nearby window, and some incense.
And Buffy.
She can smell Buffy--after their workout, they're both drenched in sweat. Coated in dust and that slightly musty tang that is the mats they're using.
In. Out. The cadence makes Faith want to push off the floor, and run. Take a mad dash through the building, up-end a few trash cans, laugh at a few freaks.
Find something that will make the blood pound in her veins until it drowns out the sound of her breath.
Birds are calling to each other outside, in the real world. Students are laughing and shouting--there's some sports game tonight, and Faith was thinking of going. All that excitement and sheer exuberance was always intoxicating. Not like staking a vampire, but enough to get her by for a while.
In. Out. The sweat is drying on her skin in the breeze from the open window, leaving her feeling clammy and cold.
The goal is not to move, but Faith shifts anyway. The movement doesn't break the pattern of breaths, and she smirks. Buffy's probably fallen asleep by now, girl'd looked like she'd been up all night studying. Faith had no freaking idea why Buffy would bother studying. They were Slayers, that was their calling. Studying would just get in the way.
A hand closes on Faith's arm.
In--
The hand is cold. Too cold to be Buffy's.
Faith doesn't even open her eyes as she rolls backwards, pulling the owner of the hand with her. Weight presses down upon her and she punches up and connects with the still-startled vampire. More weight, as Buffy jumps into the fray, then, a shattering noise and the dust of centuries chokes her as the creature disintegrates.
"Sorry," Buffy gasps, moving to the side, and pulling Faith from the cloud of ash. The stake in her hand disappears with a swift movement of her wrist.
One day, Faith is going to know where the hell that thing goes. She beams and leans over to smack a kiss to Buffy's forehead. "Thanks, B."
Buffy shrugs, shoulder nudging Faith's. "Think we're done, anyway."
"Yeah. C'mon, B, let's blow this place."
They dust themselves off and leave. Faith realizes, as she pushes ahead of Buffy to lead the way, that they're still breathing in unison.
Maybe it's a Slayer thing.
Doctor Who: River Song/Liz X, PG
-
River's always had a thing about queens of England.
"Are you going to shag your way through history?" Liz X asks her once they're done.
There's something glorious about the way Liz looks after sex. Quiet and not-so-haunted, almost relaxed with the way she's sprawled over her bed. River doesn't remember yet where that cloak of hers went, but the mask is just next to the pillow. "I've given it thought," River replies.
Not really answering, of course.
"There's something I've forgotten," Liz murmurs, before she pushes away.
As she stands, the relaxation slips away, leaving her a warrior on the hunt once again. River picks up the mask, turning it over in her hands for a moment.
"I'll need that soon."
River places it back on the sheets and begins finding her own clothing, "Are you sure it's necessary."
"Yes. It's one of the few things I'm sure of."
There's no point in goodbyes. Liz never remembers her in the right order, anyway.
Foyle's War, Samantha Stewart, G
-
Waking in the morning used to be easier, Samantha Stewart reflected to herself. The army had trained her to be up with the dawn, and even the slightly slacker hours kept by the police hadn't really changed that. But now she was a civilian, and all of the hours of the day were her own to spend.
A slightly too-poetic way to describe being jobless. Wrinkling her nose, she pushed upwards. The air was chilly in the morning still. Spring had arrived, but the warmth hadn't come with it.
Rather like her own prospects. With a sigh she climbed out of bed and told herself firmly to deal with the necessities and stop lolling about.
There was a newspaper ad to write an answer to, and a letter to her parents to write.
Sam wasn't looking forward to the latter--knowing her parents, they wouldn't be smug about it, but they would be sure to tell her they'd known it was a horrible idea for her to stay on in Hastings after the war. That was, if they simply wrote back. If her father turned up to collect her, there might be a slightly smug look.
Perhaps she would put off the letter until she heard back about that ad, then. It wouldn't take them long to review applicants, surely.
She wasn't about to give up her freedom and retreat to her parents' home.
There, Sam, she told herself as she looked in the mirror. You'll do. Now get cracking, and mind you don't misspell anything.
Buffyverse: Tara/Willow, PG
-
Tara's always had a thing for redheads. She's never been particularly articulate about it (except in her head, where her tongue can't get tied, and words flow faster than the speed of thought), so it's never been very apparent.
It shouldn't surprise her that Willow's a redhead. With her eyes closed in sleep, and her hair spread over Tara's pillow, there's no need for words of wooing. There's only need to watch her, to trace the lines of her face with wondering eyes. Willow is here, and in no one else's bed. It's new, this feeling of pleasure and satisfaction.
Mine, all mine, Tara could think, but she doesn't. Labeling Willow is never going to be her goal. Not while they're new and vibrant and so very fragile.
With a careful movement, Tara pulls the covers up to her ears and closes her eyes. In sleep, Willow makes a cranky noise and moves closer, tucking herself up against the line of Tara's body, her mouth barely an inch from Tara's own. It's almost too close, and Tara turns a bit, gaining the space she needs to breathe.
Now it's perfect.
Doctor Who: River, Amy, past St. Trinian's references, G
-
"You know the first years had a running bet on who your mysterious bloke was?" Amy wrinkled her nose in remembrance.
River shook her head, "Surely not. I thought they had me down as a lesbian."
"Well, after you were found in the closet with the Maths Tutor, can you blame them?" Really, Amy still had one of the polaroids of that somewhere. Then again, so did half the members of her year. Blackmail was an ugly word they'd never deign to use.
The console made a warbly noise and River deftly pressed a series of switches before pulling a lever. "So, what did you have me down for?"
"Lost love, I think," said Amy a bit reluctantly. Really, admitting how young she'd been then, how starry-eyed everything had seemed felt a bit embarrassing. Still, it wasn't like it would matter now. "That, or you killed him."
"And hid the body on the grounds?" River suggested, moving away from the console to check their supplies. "I'll have to remember that for the next time I kill him."
"You killed the Doctor?" Amy knew it was a facetious idea, but asked anyway. The TARDIS was landing, and she wasn't likely to get another chance for a while. Besides, she was curious. River might lie, but she didn't always run from the truth.
"What do you think?"
"You're havin' me on." Bumping River's shoulder with her own, Amy glanced over the gear, "So are we set, then?"
"A-yup. All right and ready."
Squaring her shoulders, Amy reached out to toggle the door control. "Secret Dalek base of doom, here we come."
"If there's anything left of it after we're done--"
Amy grinned and swung her pack up on one shoulder, "Then we didn't do it right in the first place."
-f-
I don't think any of these have been posted, but it's been a while since the last round-up, so I think I'm all right (and if there's duplicates, I don't think it matters in the long run).
About 2400 words total (which includes cut tag text, too)
Ritchie's Holmes movies, Irene Adler/Mary Morstan, PG
-
There was a rhythm to every dance, a series of touches and holds, releases and turns. For Mary (clad most respectably in a blue-striped satin gown), there was no moment when she wasn't on guard. Too lingering a touch, too quick a touch, and the game could be up. Still, she looked through her lashes at the men she danced with, flirted with them perspiscaciously, and allowed them nothing of herself.
Until the waltz started up, and a hand she wasn't expecting claimed hers. They never danced too close, though Mary could feel the pressure of Irene's hand pulling her that much closer. She easily resisted. Even in her gentlemen's garb, it would be improper to dance so close to another.
Where their hands clasped each other, heat spread.
Irene was smiling as they swirled through another turn, and Mary tightened her fingers on the superfine coat that she wore. "My dear," Mary murmured, "I was not expecting you this evening."
"No?" As the music came to a close, Irene pulled them off the floor and through the crowd. There was commotion near the doorway, a cry about thievery on the far side of the room. Then they were in the corridor, hand in hand as Irene led the way.
Out of breath, Mary pulled a halt to their hasty run once they'd escaped through a side door and passed through several streets. She was laughing, her head back, her breath frosting the air when Irene kissed her.
"You were almost too obvious, darling," Irene whispered against her ear before pulling away and smiling.
Mary snorted and linked their arms together to begin the walk back to her lodgings. "You've always said that hiding in plain sight was far easier than the shadows."
"I suppose I have," Irene's arm went round Mary's waist, pulling her closer. "But," she added, "Your reticule did seem to get larger and larger as the evening went on."
A whistle sounded in the distance, but neither quickened their steps. Few would remember them, after all, and fewer still would connect the elegantly-clad Mary Morstan with the missing jewels and money. She was a woman, after all.
X-Family, Kitty Pryde/Rachel Summers, soft R
-
They're older now, of course. It's harder to play the game of "Do you remember", when there's so much time and distance between them. Old memories aren't the easiest to deal with. But it's still easy to fall into each other.
Kitty once kissed Rachel out of curiosity and innocence, now she does it with practice, dexterity, and a certain fervor that always leaves them breathless.
Old friends, new lovers--Rachel picks the stray thought from the air and laughs, mouth against Kitty's throat.
"Don't tease," Kitty says, arching up. She's breathless and willing (just how Ray used to like 'em, before Kitty's innocence). Her hands are already inside Rachel's leathers, despite being told she's supposed to wait.
Telekinetic bonds trap her wrists, pulling them down and out. Pinned to the bed, Kitty makes a disgruntled noise. She could escape easily, but that would ruin the game. Rachel sucks hard at the hollow of Kitty's throat, lips pressing and searching until she finds the flutter over Kitty's heartbeat.
Hickeys feel so high school, but Kitty doesn't care--she's an adult, and if Piotr or Scott want to give her disapproving looks, she knows others who won't.
"Ray--" Kitty's protest breaks off on a high note as Rachel uses her telekinesis in a way that it probably wasn't meant for.
Satisfaction floats between them, and Kitty tries to keep her wits about her. It's going to be a long night.
SG-1, Sam/Vala, PG
-
Vala bounced. Or bounded. Sam was always trying to decide which verb worked better for the alien woman when she entered Sam's lab.
"It's lunchtime. There's pie," Vala would announce, beaming and leaning her elbows on Sam's workbench.
Usually deep in an experiment, notes, or plotting a new theory, Sam would invariably mumble something abstract in dismissal.
That was never enough for Vala.
She would slide around the desk, pushing into Sam's personal space like a niggling itch at the back of her neck that she couldn't get rid of. "Lunch, Samantha," Vala would say, drawling Sam's name out like some sort of bait on a fish-hook.
If she were feeling extra gregarious, Vala would nudge Sam with a shoulder, her hip or grab for her pen.
Any of those actions could cause... accidents.
Like the time Vala's hip-bump knocked the beaker Sam was pouring from out of her hand. Sam had turned and hauled Vala to the floor, ducking under the work surface as the sound of breaking glass was drowned out by a loud explosion.
The General hadn't been pleased about having to pay for a new lab. Sam had laid the blame at the door of unstable naquadria, and apologized profusely.
But usually, it wasn't so dangerous to interrupt Sam (and Vala had been much more careful, ever since).
Invariably, Sam would take more convincing than a firm interruption. Vala had become adept at that, too, knowing which angles the lab cameras couldn't cover, her hands would grope Sam in places that would make her jump, yelp, giggle or slap at Vala (sometimes all four). It didn't take much prodding once Vala moved to nefarious means.
Lunch was always at a quick pace, both of them flushed and breathless.
After all, lunch required an appetite, and both of them knew exactly which storage room had the faulty camera.
-f-
Buffy, Buffy/Faith, PG
-
In. Out. Faith breathes in rhythm with Buffy. It feels like a stupid, pointless exercise. Giles loves those, suggesting them with a stuffy, superior air about him. But something about that stuffiness has kept Buffy alive (well, mostly), so Faith puts up with it. Maybe she'll learn from him what it is that makes Buffy so special.
Maybe she won't.
Breathing like this, she can smell the sweat on her own skin, the stench of unwashed gym socks drifting in through the nearby window, and some incense.
And Buffy.
She can smell Buffy--after their workout, they're both drenched in sweat. Coated in dust and that slightly musty tang that is the mats they're using.
In. Out. The cadence makes Faith want to push off the floor, and run. Take a mad dash through the building, up-end a few trash cans, laugh at a few freaks.
Find something that will make the blood pound in her veins until it drowns out the sound of her breath.
Birds are calling to each other outside, in the real world. Students are laughing and shouting--there's some sports game tonight, and Faith was thinking of going. All that excitement and sheer exuberance was always intoxicating. Not like staking a vampire, but enough to get her by for a while.
In. Out. The sweat is drying on her skin in the breeze from the open window, leaving her feeling clammy and cold.
The goal is not to move, but Faith shifts anyway. The movement doesn't break the pattern of breaths, and she smirks. Buffy's probably fallen asleep by now, girl'd looked like she'd been up all night studying. Faith had no freaking idea why Buffy would bother studying. They were Slayers, that was their calling. Studying would just get in the way.
A hand closes on Faith's arm.
In--
The hand is cold. Too cold to be Buffy's.
Faith doesn't even open her eyes as she rolls backwards, pulling the owner of the hand with her. Weight presses down upon her and she punches up and connects with the still-startled vampire. More weight, as Buffy jumps into the fray, then, a shattering noise and the dust of centuries chokes her as the creature disintegrates.
"Sorry," Buffy gasps, moving to the side, and pulling Faith from the cloud of ash. The stake in her hand disappears with a swift movement of her wrist.
One day, Faith is going to know where the hell that thing goes. She beams and leans over to smack a kiss to Buffy's forehead. "Thanks, B."
Buffy shrugs, shoulder nudging Faith's. "Think we're done, anyway."
"Yeah. C'mon, B, let's blow this place."
They dust themselves off and leave. Faith realizes, as she pushes ahead of Buffy to lead the way, that they're still breathing in unison.
Maybe it's a Slayer thing.
Doctor Who: River Song/Liz X, PG
-
River's always had a thing about queens of England.
"Are you going to shag your way through history?" Liz X asks her once they're done.
There's something glorious about the way Liz looks after sex. Quiet and not-so-haunted, almost relaxed with the way she's sprawled over her bed. River doesn't remember yet where that cloak of hers went, but the mask is just next to the pillow. "I've given it thought," River replies.
Not really answering, of course.
"There's something I've forgotten," Liz murmurs, before she pushes away.
As she stands, the relaxation slips away, leaving her a warrior on the hunt once again. River picks up the mask, turning it over in her hands for a moment.
"I'll need that soon."
River places it back on the sheets and begins finding her own clothing, "Are you sure it's necessary."
"Yes. It's one of the few things I'm sure of."
There's no point in goodbyes. Liz never remembers her in the right order, anyway.
Foyle's War, Samantha Stewart, G
-
Waking in the morning used to be easier, Samantha Stewart reflected to herself. The army had trained her to be up with the dawn, and even the slightly slacker hours kept by the police hadn't really changed that. But now she was a civilian, and all of the hours of the day were her own to spend.
A slightly too-poetic way to describe being jobless. Wrinkling her nose, she pushed upwards. The air was chilly in the morning still. Spring had arrived, but the warmth hadn't come with it.
Rather like her own prospects. With a sigh she climbed out of bed and told herself firmly to deal with the necessities and stop lolling about.
There was a newspaper ad to write an answer to, and a letter to her parents to write.
Sam wasn't looking forward to the latter--knowing her parents, they wouldn't be smug about it, but they would be sure to tell her they'd known it was a horrible idea for her to stay on in Hastings after the war. That was, if they simply wrote back. If her father turned up to collect her, there might be a slightly smug look.
Perhaps she would put off the letter until she heard back about that ad, then. It wouldn't take them long to review applicants, surely.
She wasn't about to give up her freedom and retreat to her parents' home.
There, Sam, she told herself as she looked in the mirror. You'll do. Now get cracking, and mind you don't misspell anything.
Buffyverse: Tara/Willow, PG
-
Tara's always had a thing for redheads. She's never been particularly articulate about it (except in her head, where her tongue can't get tied, and words flow faster than the speed of thought), so it's never been very apparent.
It shouldn't surprise her that Willow's a redhead. With her eyes closed in sleep, and her hair spread over Tara's pillow, there's no need for words of wooing. There's only need to watch her, to trace the lines of her face with wondering eyes. Willow is here, and in no one else's bed. It's new, this feeling of pleasure and satisfaction.
Mine, all mine, Tara could think, but she doesn't. Labeling Willow is never going to be her goal. Not while they're new and vibrant and so very fragile.
With a careful movement, Tara pulls the covers up to her ears and closes her eyes. In sleep, Willow makes a cranky noise and moves closer, tucking herself up against the line of Tara's body, her mouth barely an inch from Tara's own. It's almost too close, and Tara turns a bit, gaining the space she needs to breathe.
Now it's perfect.
Doctor Who: River, Amy, past St. Trinian's references, G
-
"You know the first years had a running bet on who your mysterious bloke was?" Amy wrinkled her nose in remembrance.
River shook her head, "Surely not. I thought they had me down as a lesbian."
"Well, after you were found in the closet with the Maths Tutor, can you blame them?" Really, Amy still had one of the polaroids of that somewhere. Then again, so did half the members of her year. Blackmail was an ugly word they'd never deign to use.
The console made a warbly noise and River deftly pressed a series of switches before pulling a lever. "So, what did you have me down for?"
"Lost love, I think," said Amy a bit reluctantly. Really, admitting how young she'd been then, how starry-eyed everything had seemed felt a bit embarrassing. Still, it wasn't like it would matter now. "That, or you killed him."
"And hid the body on the grounds?" River suggested, moving away from the console to check their supplies. "I'll have to remember that for the next time I kill him."
"You killed the Doctor?" Amy knew it was a facetious idea, but asked anyway. The TARDIS was landing, and she wasn't likely to get another chance for a while. Besides, she was curious. River might lie, but she didn't always run from the truth.
"What do you think?"
"You're havin' me on." Bumping River's shoulder with her own, Amy glanced over the gear, "So are we set, then?"
"A-yup. All right and ready."
Squaring her shoulders, Amy reached out to toggle the door control. "Secret Dalek base of doom, here we come."
"If there's anything left of it after we're done--"
Amy grinned and swung her pack up on one shoulder, "Then we didn't do it right in the first place."
-f-
no subject
Loved the Buffy ones too. :D
no subject
no subject
Really liked the Buffy ones, actually--something nice about the endings on both, with the breathing.