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seriousficJust so you know, still PGish fluff, not some kind of weird tickling fetish.
Title: A Good Time To Change Your Facebook Status
Fandom: Tron
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,658
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Quorra, Alan Bradley
Previous: Pizza Night
Next: Moving Day
Summary: Quorra takes a break from saving the world to explore the ins and outs of tickling.
Sam had come home to find Quorra in lots of interesting positions. Sunbathing, for instance… indoors. Watching a pot to see if it boiled ("They were wrong."). And today, forming her body into a pretzel on the living room floor.
"Quorra, I hate to tell you this, but if it were possible to jam your face into your own groin, guys would've figured it out a long time ago."
"I'm seeing if I can blow a raspberry on my stomach."
That'd been his second guess. They were getting to know each other better all the time.
"Could you call a time-out? I'm getting a hernia just looking at you."
Quorra unfurled like Samus Aran coming out of a morphball. "You don't have to worry. Your father taught me Yoga."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Next time you want to seduce someone, you might want to mention that."
Quorra's eyes slanted in confusion. "That your father taught me things?"
Sam went to get a beer. He needed to wash the taste of that out of his brain. "So. Raspberries. What do they do, cure cancer?"
"No, I'm pretty sure that has to do with parsnips. I saw a woman giving her baby a raspberry and he laughed. If this doesn't work, then I'm not ticklish. That's that."
"You've tested this? Of course you have."
"I already tried my fingers and a feather. (You need a new pillow.) But I guess I'm just not ticklish. And I really wanted to be." She pouted. Quorra had a pout like a Disney character.
Sam was going to regret this, he just knew. "Quorra, you're probably ticklish, how could you not be? It's just that people can't tickle themselves."
"They can't? Other people have to do it for them?" She laughed and snapped her fingers, which she probably thought was a thing. "That's even better!" She pulled her shirt up. "Tickle me?"
Sam slugged back his beer. "Nah… I don't like where this is headed."
Quorra scoffed and inched her shirt higher. "It's not sexual. I bet you and your guy friends tickle each other all the time!"
"We don't."
"Then what was I watching online?" Quorra cocked her head to think. "Wait! I've got it!"
"What you were watching online? I'm not sure I want to know."
Quorra held a finger-gun on him. "You're ticklish."
"Ha!" Sam then repeated himself in case she missed it the first time. "I'm a guy. Guys aren't ticklish. Especially badass guys like me who jump off buildings and have run-ins with the law and… snowboard!"
Quorra dropped her shirt. "You're completely ticklish."
"Lies and hearsay."
"There's only one way to find out."
Sam's fight-or-flight reflex warmed up like pizza in a microwave. "To ask me, like you just did a second before I said no?"
"Okay, so… two ways." She lunged. Sam dodged to the left and laughed when Quorra bounced off the fridge. Then he ran because she already was. He rolled under the card table and she ran over it, but Sam didn't come out the other end. He doubled back, charging over the couch and jumping the pool table on his way to the front door. Quorra threw himself to tackle him, but fell short. He hurdled her grasping arms to throw open the front door.
"You're either tickling me or getting tickled!" Sam heard as he saw Alan on his front step, fist poised to knock.
"Is this a bad time?"
"No. Not at all." Kevin Flynn had his grin, Sam Flynn had his deadpan.
Quorra got up from the floor. "Hello, Alan Bradley. Nice to finally meet you."
"I told her about you," Sam said quickly, not wanting Quorra to get into his father and Tron and all that.
"I wish I could say the same." Alan gave Quorra's abruptly offered hand a shake. "But if there was ever a woman who was indescribable…"
Quorra beamed, perking an eyebrow as Sam as if to say 'See? He thinks I'm pretty.'
Sam rolled his eyes. He'd never said she wasn't. He was not that good a liar.
"So what brings you here this time of night?" Sam asked, trying to keep a stab of sudden, irrational jealousy out of his voice.
"Just some papers to go over. Things that can't wait until morning. And that matter we discussed earlier."
Sam acquiesced with a nod. "Hey, Q, don't you have that thing?
Quorra's lip buckled at losing out on the prospect of observing Alan, but she got the message. "Yes. I have many things to do while you have your secret talk." She left with her head held high.
They paved over the odd incident, Sam taking Alan's coat and sitting him down on the couch, getting them both beers and plopping himself down in the easy chair.
"Quorra," Alan said questioningly. "That's an interesting name."
"She's not a stripper," Sam said fast.
"So I figured. The economy's bad, but not bad enough for a girl who looks like that to have to take her clothes off to make money."
"Oh, is she good-looking? I hadn't noticed."
Alan spread his hands in good-natured surrender. "Easy there, sport. I wasn't insinuating anything."
"No, no... my fault. I've been on edge lately."
"But if I was insinuating something, I'd tell you that when your father took over Encom, he had a lot of attractive young women in his orbit too. This was before he met your mother, of course."
"I'm not sure I should be hearing this."
"And they weren't after Kevin for his sparkling personality. Which isn't to say your dad didn't know how to treat a lady…"
"Oh God, you're still talking."
"How would you kids put it? I ain't saying she's a gold digga, but I ain't seen her with no broke--well, I'm not allowed to say that word."
It was too much. Alan's rapping and the idea of Quorra as some sort of hoochie mama double-teamed Sam's funnybone like twins at a bachelor party. He exploded with laughter and Alan laughed along with him, somewhat awkwardly. After a few minutes, it stopped being quite so funny.
"Trust me, Alan, money is the last thing Quorra's interested in."
"I hope you're right about that."
"I am."
Looking at the certainty in Sam's eyes, Alan nodded. Sam had a good head on his shoulders, and if he thought Quorra was a good bet, Alan would put his money on the table too.
He opened up his briefcase and handed Sam the papers.
***
Quorra sat in the hammock Sam had made her. Her hands were still dirty from the pruning she'd given her plants, but she didn't want to wash them just yet. So they twined together in her lap as she looked up at the stars and listened to the waves in the river, so noisy and alive and bright when compared to the water in the Grid, even though the physics were exactly the same. "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…"
Sam came out wearing a quilt pulled around his T-shirt. Something his grandma had made him, he'd told her once, and promptly shut up before she could ask what a grandma was. "Whacha counting?"
"The stars." It wasn't that she minded Sam and Alan having their secrets. But Sam always seemed to have a reason to push her back when they were getting too close. It was starting to feel less like he was protecting her and more like he was protecting himself from her.
"You're counting the stars?" he reiterated.
"Not really. I already counted them, now I'm just double-checking."
"I'm sure you had it right the first time. Get up."
"Why?" Quorra asked, now ticking off the stars with her fingers.
"Because I want you to come with me."
"Where?"
"To see something."
"What?"
"It's a surprise."
"When?"
Sam leaned against the post that the hammock was anchored to. "Mad at me, huh?"
There was no point pretending otherwise. He knew emotions a lot better than she did. "You're going to have to introduce me to him someday."
"Who, Alan? Put it off, spare yourself the fishing stories."
"He's part of your life," Quorra insisted. "Like I want to be."
Sam knelt down and placed his car keys in her hand. "Come with me and I'll show you which part of my life you are."
***
Quorra liked Sam's car. It was so new and fast it reminded her of her Light Runner. Six different computers inside just to keep the User safe and comfortable. She wished Kevin could see it.
Sam had thought to teach her how to drive on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but she'd quickly shown him she could drive circles around him, on the Grid or off it. It was just the traffic laws she had trouble with. Why did yellow lights sometimes mean slow down and sometimes go really, really fast?
"Get off the highway here," Sam instructed, preemptively gripping the oh-shit handle. "Please use the off-ramp."
"I thought you liked extreme sports."
"Sports, not Quorra-assisted suicide!"
Quorra took the off-ramp at 90 MPH.
"That's it, I'm getting you a Prius!" Sam yelled. He gulped down his nervousness. "Take a left on Sycamore. And if there's traffic, just be patient."
"I wouldn't have to be patient if you would install some missiles on this crate," Quorra snapped.
Sam smiled to himself. The ride over had perked Quorra up, and that was worth a few near-death experiences.
"Be honest," Quorra said, skidding the car into parallel parking. "Did you and Alan tickle each other?"
***
Sam led her through the lobby of the hotel they'd parked at, his arm around her shoulders. It'd used to be that he held her hand just to make sure she didn't run off, thinking some random act was an assault whose victim she had to rescue (Sam had had a hard time describing why assault with a felt-tip pen was less likely than a woman wanting Gerard Way's signature on her breasts). Now he liked having his arm around her when they walked, even though she'd promised not to scissor-kick anyone without asking him first.
They took the elevator up, and as soon as it emerged from the lobby, Quorra gasped. The glass elevator looked out on the atrium of the hotel, and just standing in it was like piloting a Light Jet.
"Come on," Sam said, tapping her on the shoulder. She had her forehead pressed to the glass, looking down at the diorama-tiny world of concierges and guests in the lobby. "The ding means it's time to go."
He led her down a hallway to a door, which he opened by flourishing a keycard through the slot. Inside, the city lights shone through floor-to-ceiling windows to light up black leather furniture, chrome and glass tables, and other masculine furnishings.
"What is this place?" Quorra asked.
"Ours," Sam replied. "If you want it."
Quorra took a few tentative steps through the apartment, feeling out the environment like a gladiator about to play a Game. She took in the sprawling rooms, the pleasantly neutral smell. It was chilly, devoid of the warmth of Sam's home, but she could rewrite it, reprogram it, fill it with memories--their memories.
She kept walking, only stopping at the vast windows. Outside, the city was lights and shadows… so much like home, but the orderly procession of energy was just a higher form of chaos, more bright and loud and warm than the Grid could ever be.
"There's a rooftop garden," Sam said, leaning against the window next to her. Ignoring the city laid out before them to focus on Quorra's reaction. "And a yoga center downstairs, I know you're into that. They even gave me permission to put in an arcade on the gallery floor. I just have to call it a modern art exhibit…"
"It's perfect," Quorra said, turning to him. Pulling him into a hug. "Thank you."
"Thank Alan, he pulled all the strings."
Quorra wasn't letting go. Sam almost tried to pry her loose, but then he remembered… this was the first time she'd ever initiated a hug. So he rubbed her back and petted her hair and let her feel out how their bodies mingled until she stepped back and looked into his eyes and he could've kissed her. He really could've.
"We could spend the night here," Sam said, then kicked himself. "I mean, if you'd like to make up your mind, your bedroom's through there, it's a four-bedroom apartment, in case we have guests…" He sat down on the armrest of a chair, which squeaked like leather. Since it was. "And the furnishings came with the apartment. We can replace them if you don't have a vendetta against cows like these guys do."
"It's fine. I love it!" When Quorra raised her voice, it echoed. "Wow. I bet you could fit every book in the world in here…"
"Maybe if we left out the ones about vampires," Sam said.
***
Sam laid in bed, trying to ignore his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling. He probably should've asked a few questions about the last tenant. Not that he minded, it was just that the air conditioning was off in the "vacant" apartment, so he was sleeping on top of the sheets to stay just warm enough. In just a T-shirt and boxer shorts, he could see the lingering bruises from the Grid. That one from crashing his Lightcycle before Quorra rescued him; another from the fight at the End of Line Club, it was nothing compared to Quorra's arm; and a final mark that looked like an angry jellyfish. He'd somehow picked it up during the explosion that crashed the Grid. It was like his father had hit him, just once.
The door opened and Sam jerked up, reaching for a weapon… a Swiss Army Knife sitting on the nightstand, one with an actual blade. He'd had it since he was fifteen, but before the Grid, he'd never really cared if he misplaced it or not. Now he didn't leave home without it.
"Hi," Quorra said, and Sam sheepishly put away the knife. "Does that have a corkscrew in it?"
"Yes. What's wrong? You wanna go home?"
"No… this is home. It's just…" Quorra sat on the bed. "Back there, I could hear you through the walls. Snoring."
"Sorry. Thankfully, the walls here are actually walls, not tissue paper with delusions of grandeur."
"I didn't mind. It was just aural input. But I miss knowing you were so close."
"What, what are you—" He sputtered as Quorra pulled herself onto the mattress, sinking down next to them. "Quorra."
"I know. You're supposed to wine and dine me and buy me something shiny before we can do that. I don't want that right now," she assured him. Then, turning onto her side: "I want this. I want to keep seeing you." She laid her hand on his chest, telling him it wouldn't go any further. "I want to keep feeling you."
Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. If it'll help you sleep. We can get a second bed in here after tonight, be like a sitcom in the 1940s."
"After tonight?" Quorra asked, patting his chest.
"Get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow. Moving day."
Quorra wiggled into her pillow, smiling at him as her eyes shut.
Sam headbutted his pillow, waiting for his body to get the message that no, it would not be getting to do anything fun just because there was an attractive (the attractive) woman in bed with it.
After a few minutes, Quorra stirred in her "sleep," moving her hand down until it reached the band of flesh with his shirt rode up on her belly.
"Quorra," Sam muttered.
She gave him a tickle. He laughed.
Quorra sandwiched her hands under her pillow and committed to sleep. "I knew it."
Title: A Good Time To Change Your Facebook Status
Fandom: Tron
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,658
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Quorra, Alan Bradley
Previous: Pizza Night
Next: Moving Day
Summary: Quorra takes a break from saving the world to explore the ins and outs of tickling.
Sam had come home to find Quorra in lots of interesting positions. Sunbathing, for instance… indoors. Watching a pot to see if it boiled ("They were wrong."). And today, forming her body into a pretzel on the living room floor.
"Quorra, I hate to tell you this, but if it were possible to jam your face into your own groin, guys would've figured it out a long time ago."
"I'm seeing if I can blow a raspberry on my stomach."
That'd been his second guess. They were getting to know each other better all the time.
"Could you call a time-out? I'm getting a hernia just looking at you."
Quorra unfurled like Samus Aran coming out of a morphball. "You don't have to worry. Your father taught me Yoga."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Next time you want to seduce someone, you might want to mention that."
Quorra's eyes slanted in confusion. "That your father taught me things?"
Sam went to get a beer. He needed to wash the taste of that out of his brain. "So. Raspberries. What do they do, cure cancer?"
"No, I'm pretty sure that has to do with parsnips. I saw a woman giving her baby a raspberry and he laughed. If this doesn't work, then I'm not ticklish. That's that."
"You've tested this? Of course you have."
"I already tried my fingers and a feather. (You need a new pillow.) But I guess I'm just not ticklish. And I really wanted to be." She pouted. Quorra had a pout like a Disney character.
Sam was going to regret this, he just knew. "Quorra, you're probably ticklish, how could you not be? It's just that people can't tickle themselves."
"They can't? Other people have to do it for them?" She laughed and snapped her fingers, which she probably thought was a thing. "That's even better!" She pulled her shirt up. "Tickle me?"
Sam slugged back his beer. "Nah… I don't like where this is headed."
Quorra scoffed and inched her shirt higher. "It's not sexual. I bet you and your guy friends tickle each other all the time!"
"We don't."
"Then what was I watching online?" Quorra cocked her head to think. "Wait! I've got it!"
"What you were watching online? I'm not sure I want to know."
Quorra held a finger-gun on him. "You're ticklish."
"Ha!" Sam then repeated himself in case she missed it the first time. "I'm a guy. Guys aren't ticklish. Especially badass guys like me who jump off buildings and have run-ins with the law and… snowboard!"
Quorra dropped her shirt. "You're completely ticklish."
"Lies and hearsay."
"There's only one way to find out."
Sam's fight-or-flight reflex warmed up like pizza in a microwave. "To ask me, like you just did a second before I said no?"
"Okay, so… two ways." She lunged. Sam dodged to the left and laughed when Quorra bounced off the fridge. Then he ran because she already was. He rolled under the card table and she ran over it, but Sam didn't come out the other end. He doubled back, charging over the couch and jumping the pool table on his way to the front door. Quorra threw himself to tackle him, but fell short. He hurdled her grasping arms to throw open the front door.
"You're either tickling me or getting tickled!" Sam heard as he saw Alan on his front step, fist poised to knock.
"Is this a bad time?"
"No. Not at all." Kevin Flynn had his grin, Sam Flynn had his deadpan.
Quorra got up from the floor. "Hello, Alan Bradley. Nice to finally meet you."
"I told her about you," Sam said quickly, not wanting Quorra to get into his father and Tron and all that.
"I wish I could say the same." Alan gave Quorra's abruptly offered hand a shake. "But if there was ever a woman who was indescribable…"
Quorra beamed, perking an eyebrow as Sam as if to say 'See? He thinks I'm pretty.'
Sam rolled his eyes. He'd never said she wasn't. He was not that good a liar.
"So what brings you here this time of night?" Sam asked, trying to keep a stab of sudden, irrational jealousy out of his voice.
"Just some papers to go over. Things that can't wait until morning. And that matter we discussed earlier."
Sam acquiesced with a nod. "Hey, Q, don't you have that thing?
Quorra's lip buckled at losing out on the prospect of observing Alan, but she got the message. "Yes. I have many things to do while you have your secret talk." She left with her head held high.
They paved over the odd incident, Sam taking Alan's coat and sitting him down on the couch, getting them both beers and plopping himself down in the easy chair.
"Quorra," Alan said questioningly. "That's an interesting name."
"She's not a stripper," Sam said fast.
"So I figured. The economy's bad, but not bad enough for a girl who looks like that to have to take her clothes off to make money."
"Oh, is she good-looking? I hadn't noticed."
Alan spread his hands in good-natured surrender. "Easy there, sport. I wasn't insinuating anything."
"No, no... my fault. I've been on edge lately."
"But if I was insinuating something, I'd tell you that when your father took over Encom, he had a lot of attractive young women in his orbit too. This was before he met your mother, of course."
"I'm not sure I should be hearing this."
"And they weren't after Kevin for his sparkling personality. Which isn't to say your dad didn't know how to treat a lady…"
"Oh God, you're still talking."
"How would you kids put it? I ain't saying she's a gold digga, but I ain't seen her with no broke--well, I'm not allowed to say that word."
It was too much. Alan's rapping and the idea of Quorra as some sort of hoochie mama double-teamed Sam's funnybone like twins at a bachelor party. He exploded with laughter and Alan laughed along with him, somewhat awkwardly. After a few minutes, it stopped being quite so funny.
"Trust me, Alan, money is the last thing Quorra's interested in."
"I hope you're right about that."
"I am."
Looking at the certainty in Sam's eyes, Alan nodded. Sam had a good head on his shoulders, and if he thought Quorra was a good bet, Alan would put his money on the table too.
He opened up his briefcase and handed Sam the papers.
***
Quorra sat in the hammock Sam had made her. Her hands were still dirty from the pruning she'd given her plants, but she didn't want to wash them just yet. So they twined together in her lap as she looked up at the stars and listened to the waves in the river, so noisy and alive and bright when compared to the water in the Grid, even though the physics were exactly the same. "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…"
Sam came out wearing a quilt pulled around his T-shirt. Something his grandma had made him, he'd told her once, and promptly shut up before she could ask what a grandma was. "Whacha counting?"
"The stars." It wasn't that she minded Sam and Alan having their secrets. But Sam always seemed to have a reason to push her back when they were getting too close. It was starting to feel less like he was protecting her and more like he was protecting himself from her.
"You're counting the stars?" he reiterated.
"Not really. I already counted them, now I'm just double-checking."
"I'm sure you had it right the first time. Get up."
"Why?" Quorra asked, now ticking off the stars with her fingers.
"Because I want you to come with me."
"Where?"
"To see something."
"What?"
"It's a surprise."
"When?"
Sam leaned against the post that the hammock was anchored to. "Mad at me, huh?"
There was no point pretending otherwise. He knew emotions a lot better than she did. "You're going to have to introduce me to him someday."
"Who, Alan? Put it off, spare yourself the fishing stories."
"He's part of your life," Quorra insisted. "Like I want to be."
Sam knelt down and placed his car keys in her hand. "Come with me and I'll show you which part of my life you are."
***
Quorra liked Sam's car. It was so new and fast it reminded her of her Light Runner. Six different computers inside just to keep the User safe and comfortable. She wished Kevin could see it.
Sam had thought to teach her how to drive on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but she'd quickly shown him she could drive circles around him, on the Grid or off it. It was just the traffic laws she had trouble with. Why did yellow lights sometimes mean slow down and sometimes go really, really fast?
"Get off the highway here," Sam instructed, preemptively gripping the oh-shit handle. "Please use the off-ramp."
"I thought you liked extreme sports."
"Sports, not Quorra-assisted suicide!"
Quorra took the off-ramp at 90 MPH.
"That's it, I'm getting you a Prius!" Sam yelled. He gulped down his nervousness. "Take a left on Sycamore. And if there's traffic, just be patient."
"I wouldn't have to be patient if you would install some missiles on this crate," Quorra snapped.
Sam smiled to himself. The ride over had perked Quorra up, and that was worth a few near-death experiences.
"Be honest," Quorra said, skidding the car into parallel parking. "Did you and Alan tickle each other?"
***
Sam led her through the lobby of the hotel they'd parked at, his arm around her shoulders. It'd used to be that he held her hand just to make sure she didn't run off, thinking some random act was an assault whose victim she had to rescue (Sam had had a hard time describing why assault with a felt-tip pen was less likely than a woman wanting Gerard Way's signature on her breasts). Now he liked having his arm around her when they walked, even though she'd promised not to scissor-kick anyone without asking him first.
They took the elevator up, and as soon as it emerged from the lobby, Quorra gasped. The glass elevator looked out on the atrium of the hotel, and just standing in it was like piloting a Light Jet.
"Come on," Sam said, tapping her on the shoulder. She had her forehead pressed to the glass, looking down at the diorama-tiny world of concierges and guests in the lobby. "The ding means it's time to go."
He led her down a hallway to a door, which he opened by flourishing a keycard through the slot. Inside, the city lights shone through floor-to-ceiling windows to light up black leather furniture, chrome and glass tables, and other masculine furnishings.
"What is this place?" Quorra asked.
"Ours," Sam replied. "If you want it."
Quorra took a few tentative steps through the apartment, feeling out the environment like a gladiator about to play a Game. She took in the sprawling rooms, the pleasantly neutral smell. It was chilly, devoid of the warmth of Sam's home, but she could rewrite it, reprogram it, fill it with memories--their memories.
She kept walking, only stopping at the vast windows. Outside, the city was lights and shadows… so much like home, but the orderly procession of energy was just a higher form of chaos, more bright and loud and warm than the Grid could ever be.
"There's a rooftop garden," Sam said, leaning against the window next to her. Ignoring the city laid out before them to focus on Quorra's reaction. "And a yoga center downstairs, I know you're into that. They even gave me permission to put in an arcade on the gallery floor. I just have to call it a modern art exhibit…"
"It's perfect," Quorra said, turning to him. Pulling him into a hug. "Thank you."
"Thank Alan, he pulled all the strings."
Quorra wasn't letting go. Sam almost tried to pry her loose, but then he remembered… this was the first time she'd ever initiated a hug. So he rubbed her back and petted her hair and let her feel out how their bodies mingled until she stepped back and looked into his eyes and he could've kissed her. He really could've.
"We could spend the night here," Sam said, then kicked himself. "I mean, if you'd like to make up your mind, your bedroom's through there, it's a four-bedroom apartment, in case we have guests…" He sat down on the armrest of a chair, which squeaked like leather. Since it was. "And the furnishings came with the apartment. We can replace them if you don't have a vendetta against cows like these guys do."
"It's fine. I love it!" When Quorra raised her voice, it echoed. "Wow. I bet you could fit every book in the world in here…"
"Maybe if we left out the ones about vampires," Sam said.
***
Sam laid in bed, trying to ignore his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling. He probably should've asked a few questions about the last tenant. Not that he minded, it was just that the air conditioning was off in the "vacant" apartment, so he was sleeping on top of the sheets to stay just warm enough. In just a T-shirt and boxer shorts, he could see the lingering bruises from the Grid. That one from crashing his Lightcycle before Quorra rescued him; another from the fight at the End of Line Club, it was nothing compared to Quorra's arm; and a final mark that looked like an angry jellyfish. He'd somehow picked it up during the explosion that crashed the Grid. It was like his father had hit him, just once.
The door opened and Sam jerked up, reaching for a weapon… a Swiss Army Knife sitting on the nightstand, one with an actual blade. He'd had it since he was fifteen, but before the Grid, he'd never really cared if he misplaced it or not. Now he didn't leave home without it.
"Hi," Quorra said, and Sam sheepishly put away the knife. "Does that have a corkscrew in it?"
"Yes. What's wrong? You wanna go home?"
"No… this is home. It's just…" Quorra sat on the bed. "Back there, I could hear you through the walls. Snoring."
"Sorry. Thankfully, the walls here are actually walls, not tissue paper with delusions of grandeur."
"I didn't mind. It was just aural input. But I miss knowing you were so close."
"What, what are you—" He sputtered as Quorra pulled herself onto the mattress, sinking down next to them. "Quorra."
"I know. You're supposed to wine and dine me and buy me something shiny before we can do that. I don't want that right now," she assured him. Then, turning onto her side: "I want this. I want to keep seeing you." She laid her hand on his chest, telling him it wouldn't go any further. "I want to keep feeling you."
Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. If it'll help you sleep. We can get a second bed in here after tonight, be like a sitcom in the 1940s."
"After tonight?" Quorra asked, patting his chest.
"Get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow. Moving day."
Quorra wiggled into her pillow, smiling at him as her eyes shut.
Sam headbutted his pillow, waiting for his body to get the message that no, it would not be getting to do anything fun just because there was an attractive (the attractive) woman in bed with it.
After a few minutes, Quorra stirred in her "sleep," moving her hand down until it reached the band of flesh with his shirt rode up on her belly.
"Quorra," Sam muttered.
She gave him a tickle. He laughed.
Quorra sandwiched her hands under her pillow and committed to sleep. "I knew it."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 08:11 pm (UTC)I loved Sam's one line bits of wisdom, and I love Quorra and her infatuation with the idea of tickling. I just hope she can convince Sam to tickle her back some day. <3
(did tickling just turn into the euphemism of choice for this pairing in my mind? I think so)
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 08:13 pm (UTC)Hee! Best line in the fic simply because of how matter of fact she is when she mentions that the needs a new pillow. I really love how you write them and hope to see more Sam/Quorra fic from you.
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Date: 2011-01-03 11:43 pm (UTC)And they have their very own home now! A place they can make theirs. I like how you references this in one of the other stories where Sam wondered about where young billionaires should live.
Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. If it'll help you sleep. We can get a second bed in here after tonight, be like a sitcom in the 1940s."
Is Sam Flynn real? Or is he part of a race of men who are now extinct? He must really love her.
The whole tickling thing was beautiful. I loved that. And Quorra induced suicide! Eeeeee!
Wonderful.
And they should totally dine and wine and do it already because all that pent up sexual frustration isn't healthy.no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 07:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 10:58 pm (UTC)Ridiculously Fantastic
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Date: 2011-01-07 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-14 12:41 am (UTC)"waiting for his body to get the message that no, it would not be getting to do anything fun just because there was an attractive (the attractive) woman in bed with it." Sam's self-control is astounding.
In short, more of your beautiful work!
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Date: 2011-05-17 12:33 am (UTC)If this is a reference to Starman I will love you forever, even more than I already do for writing such an awesome fic!
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Date: 2011-06-20 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-24 08:35 pm (UTC)Dead, just dead.