seriousfic (
seriousfic) wrote2009-05-01 08:52 am
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Middleman fic: The Horror Movie Marathon After-Party Intercourse (Wendy/Lacey)
Title: The Horror Movie Marathon After-Party Intercourse
Fandom: Middleman
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,490
Characters/Pairings: Wendy/Lacey
Summary: Wendy and Lacey are more than friends. They’re roommates.
It starts off pretty slow, like the Han Solo toy you buy on impulse before you buy the whole Millennium Falcon playset so he’s not alone. Wendy comes home late, her threadbare jacket ripping as she takes it off. Lacey hasn’t been staying up for her, she’s just been finally getting around to clearing episodes of Xena off the DVR.
“Hey, Dub-Dub.” Wendy doesn’t respond, fixated as she is on a cuff which is stuck to her wrist. “Dub-Dub?”
Noser pokes his head through the door, which Wendy left open. “Hey, Lacey Thornfield, what’s with Wendy? Doesn’t she know what to do when she’s dirty, sweet, and my girl?”
“I’m handling it, Noser!” Lacey puts an arm around Wendy’s shoulders and gently guides her to the couch. “You copasetic, Dub-Dub?”
“Not as such.” Wendy takes off her glasses, which have a crack running through one lenses, and slumps her head back. “Bad day at the office. Werewolves, you know. You can’t save ‘em.” She sniffles.
Lacey takes Wendy’s glasses and sets them on a lampstand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted…”
Wendy nods and lets Lacey help her out of her boots and wiggle out of her pants. They fall down onto the bed and Lacey pets Wendy’s hair until she goes to sleep. In the morning, Wendy feels better and mumbles her way through the events of last night. Pillow lips gives her the day off and they go to the swimming pool to have noodle swordfights.
***
A week later, things are pretty much back to normal and the werewolf thing is a paragraph in Lacey’s diary/memoirs. Lacey takes a sick day from her job at Shake That Milk Out, the milkshake joint with synchronized dancing at four, six, and nine PM. Her understudy can use the hours. They watch horror movies together, even calling it quits on Lacey’s preferred Hammer films to indulge Wendy’s Dario Argento fetish. Lacey watches most of Phenomena through her fingers.
“Ooh.” She fakes a shiver. “Wendy Watson, I am blaming you if I cannot sleep tonight!”
“You’re going to sleep like the dead. Braaains!”
Wendy staggers forward in true Frankenstein’s Monster fashion, and Lacey giggles too hard to escape. In an instance, she’s bound up in one of Sensei Ping’s less lethal holds. Kicking and squealing good-naturedly, Lacey is dragged to bed, where Wendy holds her down against the sheets.
“This is actually a little comfortable,” Wendy reports, burrowing into Lacey’s good lace pillow. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“It’s a cruelty-free pillow. Properly preserved sea kelp is actually much softer than either chicken feathers or synthetic fluff.”
“Mmm.” Wendy’s spent all day in pajamas, so all she has to do to get ready for bed is slip her glasses onto the bedstand. “It smells funny. Take my barrettes out, slave.”
“I’m not your slave, that trivia contest was rigged. Noser loves you more.” Lacey takes Wendy’s barrettes out only because she was the one who put the semi-authentic mail order voodoo hairclips in, and because Wendy looks weird with pigtails.
“Noser loves all of us equally. He’s like Martin Luther King without the doctorate.” Wendy shakes her hair free and Lacey cuddles up next to the sweet scene of her citrus shampoo. It’s totally oddball and totally her and it’s also good for getting out alien webbing stains.
Wendy follows that up by putting her arms around Lacey and grabbing her own wrist, so they’re staring at each other. Lacey’s a little weirded out by the possibility of Wendy knowing how she stares at her, and staring back. So she does what any rational adult would do. She kisses her.
It’s sweet and soft and trying to escape is like trying to fly away from a black hole. Lacey throws a leg over Wendy’s waist and Dub-Dub is flat on her back, hair squiggling out across the pillow as Lacey rears up on all fours and kisses her lips, her nose, her cheeks, between her eyes and under her chin and finally pulls up to a kneel, lips a little slack and tongue a little out there.
“Was that okay?” she asks.
Wendy reaches up to twirl a strand of Lacey’s hair, then she rolls over on top so Lacey can’t get away and kisses her back. Wendy, in addition to the obvious Frenching, likes to nuzzle and do this adorable nibble-tongue thing to Lacey’s neck. Lacey lolled her head to the side to expose as much prime neck real estate as she could to Wendy-lips, which are very nice and can stay forever as far as she’s concerned.
Then her belt buckle clicks open and Wendy backs up a little guiltily. She pokes a finger into the little tongue of stud belt leather and works it free until Lacey’s belt is two unconnected spools.
Wendy has her glasses back on.
“Wendy Watson, what are you up to?” Lacey asks, eyebrow arched.
Wendy eases up Lacey’s shirt and kisses around Lacey’s belly button, especially hickeying the dolphin-fin tattoo that sticks up from under her waistband. Just as soon as she’s done with that, she’s rolling up Lacey’s shirt and kissing her way haphazardly up Lacey’s clenched stomach.
Before the shirt can roll off Lacey’s breasts, she slaps her hands down. Wearing a hand-bra on the outside, she looks down at Wendy. Wendy looks up.
Maybe Lacey’s right. Maybe they are going a little fast. Hours of cuddling in front of Shakespearean actors deducing whether a given murder is werewolf, vampire, or Frankenstein monster is a potent aphrodisiac. Wendy bites her lip and pulls her hands into her own lap.
Lacey whips off the T-shirt. Half-cup bra, white and pretty. Wendy doesn’t slobber, but she does have sudden caveman urges which would probably make her boss cry “secret weapons of the Luftwaffe!” if he ever heard one syllable of them. Lacey gives her a love punch in the breadbasket and Wendy gets the hint to lose the flannel pajamas. Then there is lots of the touching and the kissing and the occasional falling off of the bed. Which is annoying because less touching less kissing, but great because it’s an opportunity to foil Lacey’s evil, evil pants’ agenda to foil Wendy’s quest to fourth base.
Lacey smiles crookedly and wiggles her hips frustratingly as Wendy un-jeans her. Then, she pounces. Lacey musta done this before, because she does things with her knee that will never let Wendy think of the feel of flannel pajamas the same way again.
“Hey, baby, you so fine, you so fine you blow my mind,” Wendy says, in a romantic mood.
“Uh… uh…” Lacey’s still a little stuck on the fact that she’s actually fogged up Wendy’s glasses, and hasn’t even started yet on finding fogged-up glasses unspeakably hot. “You’re the one that I want, oo, oo, oo, honey?”
There is more of the kissing and Wendy’s nipples touching hers in a really fun way, then Wendy is looking down at Lacey with her hair dangling down and she says “You’re my best friend.”
This leaves her vulnerable to pantsing and goosing and a general sort of rolling around the floor that leaves them brushing off candy wrappers and pencil sketches (for Lacey’s Invitational Turkey Remembrance Sit-In on Thanksgiving) on their way back to the bed. A shove sprawls Wendy across it and her foot nearly takes out the lamp, but Lacey gets both her legs in a good solid hold and Wendy is helpless to defend herself. Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to defend herself, so it comes out about even.
“Oh, sweet cherry pie,” Wendy moans, letting her head drift against the pillow she’s holding onto. Lacey starts multitasking, fingers and tongue, and Wendy abandons Way-Too-Soft the Pillow for the headboard. It’s a good thing too. She was about to rip that pillow into little bits of kelp.
“Mmm. Dub-Dub.” Lacey stands up wobbly, falls on Wendy, and lucks into a rubbing motion that works out well for both of them. “Dub-dub-dub-dub…”
“You sound like someone who listens to 12 Stones.”
Lacey doesn’t acknowledge Wendy going too far, because she’s found a really good motion that is all clit and motion and heat. “Dub… Dub… Dub… Dub!”
If the only way to shut Lacey up is to kiss her, that’s a sacrifice Wendy is willing to make. They come with their tongues against each others’ teeth and Wendy hits the pillow glasses askew. Lacey rocks herself against her a few more times, because it feels too good to stop right away, but they’re soggy and tired and the bed is really soft. Without the unthinkable sacrifice of getting up, they finagle the tangled bedsheet until it covers both of them. It requires them to press up against each other like two peas in a pod, but Wendy can get to sleep like that. Easy like Sunday morning.
Fandom: Middleman
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,490
Characters/Pairings: Wendy/Lacey
Summary: Wendy and Lacey are more than friends. They’re roommates.
It starts off pretty slow, like the Han Solo toy you buy on impulse before you buy the whole Millennium Falcon playset so he’s not alone. Wendy comes home late, her threadbare jacket ripping as she takes it off. Lacey hasn’t been staying up for her, she’s just been finally getting around to clearing episodes of Xena off the DVR.
“Hey, Dub-Dub.” Wendy doesn’t respond, fixated as she is on a cuff which is stuck to her wrist. “Dub-Dub?”
Noser pokes his head through the door, which Wendy left open. “Hey, Lacey Thornfield, what’s with Wendy? Doesn’t she know what to do when she’s dirty, sweet, and my girl?”
“I’m handling it, Noser!” Lacey puts an arm around Wendy’s shoulders and gently guides her to the couch. “You copasetic, Dub-Dub?”
“Not as such.” Wendy takes off her glasses, which have a crack running through one lenses, and slumps her head back. “Bad day at the office. Werewolves, you know. You can’t save ‘em.” She sniffles.
Lacey takes Wendy’s glasses and sets them on a lampstand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted…”
Wendy nods and lets Lacey help her out of her boots and wiggle out of her pants. They fall down onto the bed and Lacey pets Wendy’s hair until she goes to sleep. In the morning, Wendy feels better and mumbles her way through the events of last night. Pillow lips gives her the day off and they go to the swimming pool to have noodle swordfights.
***
A week later, things are pretty much back to normal and the werewolf thing is a paragraph in Lacey’s diary/memoirs. Lacey takes a sick day from her job at Shake That Milk Out, the milkshake joint with synchronized dancing at four, six, and nine PM. Her understudy can use the hours. They watch horror movies together, even calling it quits on Lacey’s preferred Hammer films to indulge Wendy’s Dario Argento fetish. Lacey watches most of Phenomena through her fingers.
“Ooh.” She fakes a shiver. “Wendy Watson, I am blaming you if I cannot sleep tonight!”
“You’re going to sleep like the dead. Braaains!”
Wendy staggers forward in true Frankenstein’s Monster fashion, and Lacey giggles too hard to escape. In an instance, she’s bound up in one of Sensei Ping’s less lethal holds. Kicking and squealing good-naturedly, Lacey is dragged to bed, where Wendy holds her down against the sheets.
“This is actually a little comfortable,” Wendy reports, burrowing into Lacey’s good lace pillow. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“It’s a cruelty-free pillow. Properly preserved sea kelp is actually much softer than either chicken feathers or synthetic fluff.”
“Mmm.” Wendy’s spent all day in pajamas, so all she has to do to get ready for bed is slip her glasses onto the bedstand. “It smells funny. Take my barrettes out, slave.”
“I’m not your slave, that trivia contest was rigged. Noser loves you more.” Lacey takes Wendy’s barrettes out only because she was the one who put the semi-authentic mail order voodoo hairclips in, and because Wendy looks weird with pigtails.
“Noser loves all of us equally. He’s like Martin Luther King without the doctorate.” Wendy shakes her hair free and Lacey cuddles up next to the sweet scene of her citrus shampoo. It’s totally oddball and totally her and it’s also good for getting out alien webbing stains.
Wendy follows that up by putting her arms around Lacey and grabbing her own wrist, so they’re staring at each other. Lacey’s a little weirded out by the possibility of Wendy knowing how she stares at her, and staring back. So she does what any rational adult would do. She kisses her.
It’s sweet and soft and trying to escape is like trying to fly away from a black hole. Lacey throws a leg over Wendy’s waist and Dub-Dub is flat on her back, hair squiggling out across the pillow as Lacey rears up on all fours and kisses her lips, her nose, her cheeks, between her eyes and under her chin and finally pulls up to a kneel, lips a little slack and tongue a little out there.
“Was that okay?” she asks.
Wendy reaches up to twirl a strand of Lacey’s hair, then she rolls over on top so Lacey can’t get away and kisses her back. Wendy, in addition to the obvious Frenching, likes to nuzzle and do this adorable nibble-tongue thing to Lacey’s neck. Lacey lolled her head to the side to expose as much prime neck real estate as she could to Wendy-lips, which are very nice and can stay forever as far as she’s concerned.
Then her belt buckle clicks open and Wendy backs up a little guiltily. She pokes a finger into the little tongue of stud belt leather and works it free until Lacey’s belt is two unconnected spools.
Wendy has her glasses back on.
“Wendy Watson, what are you up to?” Lacey asks, eyebrow arched.
Wendy eases up Lacey’s shirt and kisses around Lacey’s belly button, especially hickeying the dolphin-fin tattoo that sticks up from under her waistband. Just as soon as she’s done with that, she’s rolling up Lacey’s shirt and kissing her way haphazardly up Lacey’s clenched stomach.
Before the shirt can roll off Lacey’s breasts, she slaps her hands down. Wearing a hand-bra on the outside, she looks down at Wendy. Wendy looks up.
Maybe Lacey’s right. Maybe they are going a little fast. Hours of cuddling in front of Shakespearean actors deducing whether a given murder is werewolf, vampire, or Frankenstein monster is a potent aphrodisiac. Wendy bites her lip and pulls her hands into her own lap.
Lacey whips off the T-shirt. Half-cup bra, white and pretty. Wendy doesn’t slobber, but she does have sudden caveman urges which would probably make her boss cry “secret weapons of the Luftwaffe!” if he ever heard one syllable of them. Lacey gives her a love punch in the breadbasket and Wendy gets the hint to lose the flannel pajamas. Then there is lots of the touching and the kissing and the occasional falling off of the bed. Which is annoying because less touching less kissing, but great because it’s an opportunity to foil Lacey’s evil, evil pants’ agenda to foil Wendy’s quest to fourth base.
Lacey smiles crookedly and wiggles her hips frustratingly as Wendy un-jeans her. Then, she pounces. Lacey musta done this before, because she does things with her knee that will never let Wendy think of the feel of flannel pajamas the same way again.
“Hey, baby, you so fine, you so fine you blow my mind,” Wendy says, in a romantic mood.
“Uh… uh…” Lacey’s still a little stuck on the fact that she’s actually fogged up Wendy’s glasses, and hasn’t even started yet on finding fogged-up glasses unspeakably hot. “You’re the one that I want, oo, oo, oo, honey?”
There is more of the kissing and Wendy’s nipples touching hers in a really fun way, then Wendy is looking down at Lacey with her hair dangling down and she says “You’re my best friend.”
This leaves her vulnerable to pantsing and goosing and a general sort of rolling around the floor that leaves them brushing off candy wrappers and pencil sketches (for Lacey’s Invitational Turkey Remembrance Sit-In on Thanksgiving) on their way back to the bed. A shove sprawls Wendy across it and her foot nearly takes out the lamp, but Lacey gets both her legs in a good solid hold and Wendy is helpless to defend herself. Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to defend herself, so it comes out about even.
“Oh, sweet cherry pie,” Wendy moans, letting her head drift against the pillow she’s holding onto. Lacey starts multitasking, fingers and tongue, and Wendy abandons Way-Too-Soft the Pillow for the headboard. It’s a good thing too. She was about to rip that pillow into little bits of kelp.
“Mmm. Dub-Dub.” Lacey stands up wobbly, falls on Wendy, and lucks into a rubbing motion that works out well for both of them. “Dub-dub-dub-dub…”
“You sound like someone who listens to 12 Stones.”
Lacey doesn’t acknowledge Wendy going too far, because she’s found a really good motion that is all clit and motion and heat. “Dub… Dub… Dub… Dub!”
If the only way to shut Lacey up is to kiss her, that’s a sacrifice Wendy is willing to make. They come with their tongues against each others’ teeth and Wendy hits the pillow glasses askew. Lacey rocks herself against her a few more times, because it feels too good to stop right away, but they’re soggy and tired and the bed is really soft. Without the unthinkable sacrifice of getting up, they finagle the tangled bedsheet until it covers both of them. It requires them to press up against each other like two peas in a pod, but Wendy can get to sleep like that. Easy like Sunday morning.