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seriousficTitle: Where you'll be safe
Fandom: Sucker Punch
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,306
Characters/Pairings: Sweetpea/Rocket
Summary: Sweetpea protects Rocket from the world. Rocket protects Sweetpea from herself.
Sweetpea was so used to Rocket crawling into bed with her that she could sleep right through it, and she usually did, waking up to Rocket wrapped around her like a dream come true. She drove herself hard working on the dance routines, burying herself in them (everyone had their ways to cope), and when her head hit the pillow, it was lights out. She wasn't sleeping tonight. She could've danced until her feet bled and she still wouldn't be exhausted enough to sleep.
Escape. Like the brothel, it was both tantalizing and deadly. Babydoll had everyone thinking about the world outside and even Rocket was buying into it. And Sweetpea trusted Rocket. The girl had a sixth sense, sometimes. She knew which clients were just looking for a good time and which liked the screaming, just by looking at them. She couldn't see the forest through the trees, but good goddamn, could she see the trees.
Seeing Sweetpea was awake, Rocket spoke softly to her. "Hey. What are you doing up?"
"What are you, Mom?"
"I just know we're all gonna need our rest when it's time to break outta here."
"Fine." Sweetpea turned on her with a smile. "But if I'm getting sleep, I'm gonna need my teddy bear."
Rocket squeaked as Sweetpea pulled her close, tangling both arms around her and planting her chin on Rocket's shoulder like a conqueror's flag. It wasn't a line. Sweetpea always slept better with Rocket in her arms. Had been that way ever since they were kids.
They'd met because Sweetpea's mom was dead and Rocket's dad was deader. Maybe that was an omen. During the engagement, their parents had been so worried that wouldn't get along… only children, forced into one big new family. But it'd never been that way for them. Opposites attracted. Rocket was too sweet for Sweetpea to ever hate, and Rocket couldn't help but look up to Sweetpea. They started calling each other Big Sis and Little Sis, just for kicks, and when Sweetpea's friends complained that she was spending all her time with her stepsister, Sweetpea just remembered Rocket was a friend she lived with.
At fifteen they were supposed to be interested in men, lettermen jackets, hot rods, gelled hair. It just never seemed as interesting as spending time together. Sweetpea could spend hours just cuddled up with Rocket, watching her read a book and reading it over the shoulder at the same time. The page never turned until they were both done and neither of them had to make a sound to know when it was time.
The books had been Sweetpea's mother's. Most of them were the old standards—Jane Austen to Jane Eyre. But some had suggestive titles and lurid covers; women who seemed born to smoke cigarettes and lounge next to each other in negligee. The sisters read those when their parents were gone. The women, the lesbians, the lovers, they were always dead or insane by the final page, but that was just the author's take on things. What did he know?
It seemed only natural, right, for two people so alike (deep down inside where it counted) to act out those chapters that so fascinated them, explore their bodies' differences, where Rocket was ticklish and Sweetpea was not.
Their parents didn't think so. The mother understood, at least a little, but the father was ashamed at what his house had held. There was yelling and things thrown. Sweetpea was sure it would've blown over, but she understood why Rocket ran.
She followed.
They made love for the first time in the woods, under the stars, drunk on their own boldness, willing to go far beyond play. The books had given them everything they needed, but the act took it beyond any of the words. They learned the secret, that they were two halves and could be made whole, joined by lips and fingers and soft sighs.
Sweetpea didn't like to think about how they came to be at the brothel. They were still together. That was what she liked to think about. The half-truth that they were sisters kept them together, letting Sweetpea protect Rocket.
Outside was their family. Sweetpea wondered if time could heal the rift between them. They had to try.
Something was wrong. Rocket was stiff and unyielding in her arms. Maybe it was nerves, maybe she wasn't as cocky as she pretended. Sweetpea almost thought good, but no. No need for both of them to suffer. It was Sweetpea's job to worry, Rocket's to hope.
"What's wrong?" Sweetpea asked, trying to stroke the paralysis out of Rocket's spine.
Rocket's voice was low even for under the covers. "Blue doesn’t know shit, does he?"
"Never has, never will, little sis."
Rocket trembled in Sweetpea's grip. She didn't sob, she'd been in the brothel too long for that, but her body remembered the old motions. "Blue was drunk again, and you know how he gets. We were practicing our routine when he came in and… he picked me. Told everyone I was worthless and ugly and—" Sweetpea shushed her, but she couldn't stop the words from echoing in Rocket's mind. The rat bastard. "I know he always goes off on one of the girls, I know I shouldn't care… but why'd he have to pick me? Why me?"
"It doesn’t matter. We're gonna be gone soon, right?"
"Yeah," Rocket said distantly.
Sweetpea kissed her shoulder and the nape of her neck, looking for that old connection that had held them together when everything else was gone. When she moved for Rocket's cheek, Rocket turned her head and Sweetpea caught her lips.
There were times when Rocket needed more from Sweetpea. Needed things that Sweetpea always gave to her, even though it was stupid, even though if they got caught… But it made her feel so beautiful, and that trickled over to Sweetpea, lit her up like the moon reflecting the sun. Soon now, they would be free and they could kiss and touch and love whenever they wanted. And the headiness of that made it impossible to put this off. Freedom was so close that Sweetpea couldn't resist a taste.
Sweetpea smiled and pushed Rocket's face into the pillow, as if she was thinking of refusing. Rocket knew bullshit when she smelled it. She waved her ass up in the air a little and Sweetpea shoved it back down before anyone could notice. And, while her hands was on Rocket's ass, her fingers wheedled their way through every obstacle to the sweet store between Rocket's legs. Rocket's teeth snapped together and she let loose the most delicious little sigh.
Sweetpea bent low over her body and sung in her ear as she dizzied Rocket, performing her own labyrinthine gestures on her body. It was amazing, all the things four fingers and a thumb could do. All the ways Rocket could enjoy it. As for the song, it didn't have a name that Sweetpea knew, or even words all of the time. She just sung it as it came to her, and when Rocket orgasmed, with a fittingly subtle gasp that Sweetpea only barely heard over her own singing, the music trailed off into infinity.
For a moment, Sweetpea could've sworn she heard a whole orchestra backing her up.
"Go to sleep," she ordered sweetly, fastidiously adjusting Rocket back to modesty.
Rocket latched onto Sweetpea's hand and kissed under her arm and went to sleep pulled taut against her like two strings in a knot.
Sweetpea could say she was only doing it for Rocket, this whole busted escape. She could say they had a good thing here. But when she thought of being with Rocket, somewhere where they could be more than the dolls men played with… escape was for her.
Fandom: Sucker Punch
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,306
Characters/Pairings: Sweetpea/Rocket
Summary: Sweetpea protects Rocket from the world. Rocket protects Sweetpea from herself.
Sweetpea was so used to Rocket crawling into bed with her that she could sleep right through it, and she usually did, waking up to Rocket wrapped around her like a dream come true. She drove herself hard working on the dance routines, burying herself in them (everyone had their ways to cope), and when her head hit the pillow, it was lights out. She wasn't sleeping tonight. She could've danced until her feet bled and she still wouldn't be exhausted enough to sleep.
Escape. Like the brothel, it was both tantalizing and deadly. Babydoll had everyone thinking about the world outside and even Rocket was buying into it. And Sweetpea trusted Rocket. The girl had a sixth sense, sometimes. She knew which clients were just looking for a good time and which liked the screaming, just by looking at them. She couldn't see the forest through the trees, but good goddamn, could she see the trees.
Seeing Sweetpea was awake, Rocket spoke softly to her. "Hey. What are you doing up?"
"What are you, Mom?"
"I just know we're all gonna need our rest when it's time to break outta here."
"Fine." Sweetpea turned on her with a smile. "But if I'm getting sleep, I'm gonna need my teddy bear."
Rocket squeaked as Sweetpea pulled her close, tangling both arms around her and planting her chin on Rocket's shoulder like a conqueror's flag. It wasn't a line. Sweetpea always slept better with Rocket in her arms. Had been that way ever since they were kids.
They'd met because Sweetpea's mom was dead and Rocket's dad was deader. Maybe that was an omen. During the engagement, their parents had been so worried that wouldn't get along… only children, forced into one big new family. But it'd never been that way for them. Opposites attracted. Rocket was too sweet for Sweetpea to ever hate, and Rocket couldn't help but look up to Sweetpea. They started calling each other Big Sis and Little Sis, just for kicks, and when Sweetpea's friends complained that she was spending all her time with her stepsister, Sweetpea just remembered Rocket was a friend she lived with.
At fifteen they were supposed to be interested in men, lettermen jackets, hot rods, gelled hair. It just never seemed as interesting as spending time together. Sweetpea could spend hours just cuddled up with Rocket, watching her read a book and reading it over the shoulder at the same time. The page never turned until they were both done and neither of them had to make a sound to know when it was time.
The books had been Sweetpea's mother's. Most of them were the old standards—Jane Austen to Jane Eyre. But some had suggestive titles and lurid covers; women who seemed born to smoke cigarettes and lounge next to each other in negligee. The sisters read those when their parents were gone. The women, the lesbians, the lovers, they were always dead or insane by the final page, but that was just the author's take on things. What did he know?
It seemed only natural, right, for two people so alike (deep down inside where it counted) to act out those chapters that so fascinated them, explore their bodies' differences, where Rocket was ticklish and Sweetpea was not.
Their parents didn't think so. The mother understood, at least a little, but the father was ashamed at what his house had held. There was yelling and things thrown. Sweetpea was sure it would've blown over, but she understood why Rocket ran.
She followed.
They made love for the first time in the woods, under the stars, drunk on their own boldness, willing to go far beyond play. The books had given them everything they needed, but the act took it beyond any of the words. They learned the secret, that they were two halves and could be made whole, joined by lips and fingers and soft sighs.
Sweetpea didn't like to think about how they came to be at the brothel. They were still together. That was what she liked to think about. The half-truth that they were sisters kept them together, letting Sweetpea protect Rocket.
Outside was their family. Sweetpea wondered if time could heal the rift between them. They had to try.
Something was wrong. Rocket was stiff and unyielding in her arms. Maybe it was nerves, maybe she wasn't as cocky as she pretended. Sweetpea almost thought good, but no. No need for both of them to suffer. It was Sweetpea's job to worry, Rocket's to hope.
"What's wrong?" Sweetpea asked, trying to stroke the paralysis out of Rocket's spine.
Rocket's voice was low even for under the covers. "Blue doesn’t know shit, does he?"
"Never has, never will, little sis."
Rocket trembled in Sweetpea's grip. She didn't sob, she'd been in the brothel too long for that, but her body remembered the old motions. "Blue was drunk again, and you know how he gets. We were practicing our routine when he came in and… he picked me. Told everyone I was worthless and ugly and—" Sweetpea shushed her, but she couldn't stop the words from echoing in Rocket's mind. The rat bastard. "I know he always goes off on one of the girls, I know I shouldn't care… but why'd he have to pick me? Why me?"
"It doesn’t matter. We're gonna be gone soon, right?"
"Yeah," Rocket said distantly.
Sweetpea kissed her shoulder and the nape of her neck, looking for that old connection that had held them together when everything else was gone. When she moved for Rocket's cheek, Rocket turned her head and Sweetpea caught her lips.
There were times when Rocket needed more from Sweetpea. Needed things that Sweetpea always gave to her, even though it was stupid, even though if they got caught… But it made her feel so beautiful, and that trickled over to Sweetpea, lit her up like the moon reflecting the sun. Soon now, they would be free and they could kiss and touch and love whenever they wanted. And the headiness of that made it impossible to put this off. Freedom was so close that Sweetpea couldn't resist a taste.
Sweetpea smiled and pushed Rocket's face into the pillow, as if she was thinking of refusing. Rocket knew bullshit when she smelled it. She waved her ass up in the air a little and Sweetpea shoved it back down before anyone could notice. And, while her hands was on Rocket's ass, her fingers wheedled their way through every obstacle to the sweet store between Rocket's legs. Rocket's teeth snapped together and she let loose the most delicious little sigh.
Sweetpea bent low over her body and sung in her ear as she dizzied Rocket, performing her own labyrinthine gestures on her body. It was amazing, all the things four fingers and a thumb could do. All the ways Rocket could enjoy it. As for the song, it didn't have a name that Sweetpea knew, or even words all of the time. She just sung it as it came to her, and when Rocket orgasmed, with a fittingly subtle gasp that Sweetpea only barely heard over her own singing, the music trailed off into infinity.
For a moment, Sweetpea could've sworn she heard a whole orchestra backing her up.
"Go to sleep," she ordered sweetly, fastidiously adjusting Rocket back to modesty.
Rocket latched onto Sweetpea's hand and kissed under her arm and went to sleep pulled taut against her like two strings in a knot.
Sweetpea could say she was only doing it for Rocket, this whole busted escape. She could say they had a good thing here. But when she thought of being with Rocket, somewhere where they could be more than the dolls men played with… escape was for her.
