sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-04 03:50 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-04 03:50 pm
MISC FIC: Television Short Fic
These are unrated and generally fall in the PG-13 to R ratings range.
Warnings: None.
Research is for the Faithless
"We can't just dive into this," Cordelia said. "I'm a mortal. A gorgeous mortal, but a mortal. You aren't. You know bad things happen to people when -- "
"Scared?" A dangerous grin.
"I've lived way too long in this town to die because I got freaky with the supernatural."
"Scared."
"I am not!" Cordelia snapped. "How dare you call me scared when I've been helping to battle evil even at the risk of getting bloodstains on my Prada! We need to do research!"
Faith licked her lips.
Then she licked Cordelia's.
"Research is for the faithless," she said huskily.
Like That
"Bet you used to take Xander here," Faith said around wet, open kisses as she pressed Cordelia against the door.
"Shut up," Cordelia snarled, and bit Faith's lip. Faith bit back.
"Take them here when you're too embarrassed to be seen with them," Faith continued, hiking Cordelia's skirt up around her hips.
"I said shut up," Cordelia answered, hands sliding under Faith's shirt.
"To do naughty things in the dark," Faith continued, as one hand pulled the lightbulb's chain. In the darkness, Cordelia moaned.
"Just like that..."
Dressing Room
Buffy had tried to dress Willow, because it was a crime to see someone just as pretty as Cordelia being mocked by Cordelia for no other reason than her anthropologist mother was a little overbearing; Buffy had tried to dress Xander because Xander was hopeless.
Everyone tried with Xander, sooner or later. Willow, like the good student she was, had taken and learned and absorbed the fashion lessons Buffy had to teach, and had decided to try her hand with Xander, even knowing what the result would be.
"This wasn't what I expected to be doing today," Xander said, into her neck. Willow giggled, pressed up against the wall of the dressing room, as she turned her head to see them in the mirror, Xander's broad hands on her hips, his lips pressing to her pulse.
"Me either," she answered. "You're just trying to get out of going shopping."
"And these pants," he said. "Do you mind?"
"No," she replied, to the infinity of Xanders and Willows reflected in the tri-fold mirror. "I don't mind at all..."
Young Detectives
Books. His whole life was books.
Greg liked books, and liked science, he always had; liked figuring things out by working backwards along a chain of reasoning, studying particles and strands and cells too small for the naked eye to see.
But when he was twelve someone, a doting uncle perhaps (Greg: golden son amongst twelve girl-cousins), had given him a Young Detective's Kit, a silly little toy that did, however, come with a dusting brush and a little packet of powder to dust for fingerprints with. He hadn't even thought about it for years, until he got the job in the crimelab in Vegas.
And he saw Nick, who was cool, and Sara, who was smart, and Warrick, who really seemed to have it together, and Gil Grissom who was just, just, an awesome intellect, and suddenly books weren't enough anymore.
"Yeah," Warrick said, one day after shift, over coffee. "You want to be a CSI, I'll show you how it's done."
And Greg smiled, and went home and dug out his Young Detective's Kit, and practiced dusting for prints the whole rest of the day.
Pendulum
He wasn't unknowable; Lady Heather had known too many men for that. He wasn't unfathomable; she wasn't afraid of depths. Gil wasn't even all that much of a mystery, because his mystery was that he was a mystery.
He did sometimes make her head hurt.
But he was her release, as well; the pendulum didn't swing, with him, from dominant to submissive. She didn't have to be either. She could simply be.
"Do you know what I like best about us?" she asked, head resting on his chest, listening to his heart beat, even and precise as his science.
"No," he replied, and she liked that too; that he didn't try to crack wise. "What?"
"We don't need props," she said. "All the silly things the other men come here for."
"I don't come here for release," he replied, idly brushing her hair off her cheek.
"Oh no?"
"No. I come here because I like you," he answered. He did not ask whether she liked him or not. It was nice.
"I like you too," she replied.
Warnings: None.
Research is for the Faithless
"We can't just dive into this," Cordelia said. "I'm a mortal. A gorgeous mortal, but a mortal. You aren't. You know bad things happen to people when -- "
"Scared?" A dangerous grin.
"I've lived way too long in this town to die because I got freaky with the supernatural."
"Scared."
"I am not!" Cordelia snapped. "How dare you call me scared when I've been helping to battle evil even at the risk of getting bloodstains on my Prada! We need to do research!"
Faith licked her lips.
Then she licked Cordelia's.
"Research is for the faithless," she said huskily.
Like That
"Bet you used to take Xander here," Faith said around wet, open kisses as she pressed Cordelia against the door.
"Shut up," Cordelia snarled, and bit Faith's lip. Faith bit back.
"Take them here when you're too embarrassed to be seen with them," Faith continued, hiking Cordelia's skirt up around her hips.
"I said shut up," Cordelia answered, hands sliding under Faith's shirt.
"To do naughty things in the dark," Faith continued, as one hand pulled the lightbulb's chain. In the darkness, Cordelia moaned.
"Just like that..."
Dressing Room
Buffy had tried to dress Willow, because it was a crime to see someone just as pretty as Cordelia being mocked by Cordelia for no other reason than her anthropologist mother was a little overbearing; Buffy had tried to dress Xander because Xander was hopeless.
Everyone tried with Xander, sooner or later. Willow, like the good student she was, had taken and learned and absorbed the fashion lessons Buffy had to teach, and had decided to try her hand with Xander, even knowing what the result would be.
"This wasn't what I expected to be doing today," Xander said, into her neck. Willow giggled, pressed up against the wall of the dressing room, as she turned her head to see them in the mirror, Xander's broad hands on her hips, his lips pressing to her pulse.
"Me either," she answered. "You're just trying to get out of going shopping."
"And these pants," he said. "Do you mind?"
"No," she replied, to the infinity of Xanders and Willows reflected in the tri-fold mirror. "I don't mind at all..."
Young Detectives
Books. His whole life was books.
Greg liked books, and liked science, he always had; liked figuring things out by working backwards along a chain of reasoning, studying particles and strands and cells too small for the naked eye to see.
But when he was twelve someone, a doting uncle perhaps (Greg: golden son amongst twelve girl-cousins), had given him a Young Detective's Kit, a silly little toy that did, however, come with a dusting brush and a little packet of powder to dust for fingerprints with. He hadn't even thought about it for years, until he got the job in the crimelab in Vegas.
And he saw Nick, who was cool, and Sara, who was smart, and Warrick, who really seemed to have it together, and Gil Grissom who was just, just, an awesome intellect, and suddenly books weren't enough anymore.
"Yeah," Warrick said, one day after shift, over coffee. "You want to be a CSI, I'll show you how it's done."
And Greg smiled, and went home and dug out his Young Detective's Kit, and practiced dusting for prints the whole rest of the day.
Pendulum
He wasn't unknowable; Lady Heather had known too many men for that. He wasn't unfathomable; she wasn't afraid of depths. Gil wasn't even all that much of a mystery, because his mystery was that he was a mystery.
He did sometimes make her head hurt.
But he was her release, as well; the pendulum didn't swing, with him, from dominant to submissive. She didn't have to be either. She could simply be.
"Do you know what I like best about us?" she asked, head resting on his chest, listening to his heart beat, even and precise as his science.
"No," he replied, and she liked that too; that he didn't try to crack wise. "What?"
"We don't need props," she said. "All the silly things the other men come here for."
"I don't come here for release," he replied, idly brushing her hair off her cheek.
"Oh no?"
"No. I come here because I like you," he answered. He did not ask whether she liked him or not. It was nice.
"I like you too," she replied.
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