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Disclaimer: Not mine. Rating: R/NC17. Lesbians! Notes: Er.... This is X-Men, set vaguely current continuity, and since we all know she ain't dead... This one is a combination of people's faults. Jim Smith for demanding femslash, and Timey for pointing out that, uh, Dom hasn't completed the Summers set yet... Title is from 'Velvet Divorce' by the Sneaker Pimps.
This Perfect Working Order She knows how this started. It began with Emma Frost and diamond-hard skin and minds spinning out of control until no one knew who began where and who ended whom. Memory goes grey, then (irony) until she wakes with arms and hands and legs tangled with her own. She remembers the night in flashes. Dark hair, crystal-amethyst eyes, and skin covered in myriad scars. She stroked a wondering hand down one flank, then looked up as the woman shivered. "Hey." There is no voice in her yet, and she moves, slides up the other woman until their mouths meet. Tongues and lips tangle, and energy floods her veins. A shift, a push, and slim white fingers plunge into her. She finds her voice in a moan and a gasp, then sits straighter and watches as the other woman wriggles until her mouth is in position. And then there's more than moans as lips and tongue slowly drive her into madness. This is what it's like at the edge of the world. No color, no light, no sound. Just grey plains that stretch forever until the kaleidoscope shatters and she's falling forwards into the pillows, panting for her last breaths. "Hey." Now she has a voice, she turns, kisses her upside-down and tastes herself on the other's tongue. One hand slides down pale white skin, drifting between already spread legs, and it's her turn to thrust with her fingers, her tongue mimicking the movement before her mouth drifts to the hollow of this woman's throat. Domino. The name is suddenly there, and as Domino whispers hoarsely, coarse words that begin to melt the pristine world into grit, she closes her mouth on a nipple and flicks her thumb against Domino's clit. Hands grab at her, pushing, pulling, pleading, and she moves, amused at this sense of power, trailing red hair across shivering skin and stopping often to taste and poke and prod. Her hand still moves, fingers shifting and twisting with something she thinks is assurance. More coarse words, and there is dirt under her fingernails, but she's concentrating on other things. Her mouth and tongue are tasting, suckling, licking, and Domino is growling as she clamps her lips around her clitoris and pulls slightly, feeling the muscles in her thighs quiver beneath one hand before the scent and feel distracts her and she strokes her fingers faster, listening for the right response. And feeling smug as the mercenary shatters beneath her again. The hands are back at her waist, pulling her over to one side, "God, Jean..." Jean. Yes. A name she's beginning to remember. She shifts herself around and kisses Domino lightly, "Breakfast?" "Lemme get my breath back." Her fingers thread through the other woman's hair, and she watches the way it bends the light into shades of blue. "All right." One arm snakes around her waist, and she finds herself dragged against the lean strength of Domino's body. "Hey. You all right?" No. "Mmm." Her lips curve in a smile and she kisses Domino's shoulder. "Yes." After all, she's no more broken than the woman she's holding, memories scattered to the winds and a childhood that never existed. Besides, it's strangely fitting to fuck the woman who was her son's lover while her husband screws the White Queen. Memory is never about revenge. -f- © 2005 ALC Punk! |