bitterfic

Fabulous Creature: Harry Potter Fic

bitterfic — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 18:05:03 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Fabulous Creature
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Tonks/Draco
Summary: Draco and his cousin have a surprising encounter during his 6th year.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1720
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Cousincest. Also Draco is 16 years old (the age of consent) in this story while Tonks is in her early 20’s.
Author's Note: I wrote this a while ago for hp_ssc_fest . It was originally posted back in August. Just getting around to putting it up on my own journal now.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Fabulous Creature

For years, Draco Malfoy had harbored a secret fascination with Nymphadora Tonks.

She was after all his cousin, the only living blood relation of his generation. All his life he’d been told how precious and special the blood of the Black family was. He couldn’t help but wonder how this manifested in Tonks, even though her purity was tainted by the base blood of her Muggle-born father.

He’d heard about her most of his life. He remembered his mother and father expressing surprise when she graduated from Hogwarts at the top of her class and when she became an Auror. Sometimes he saw her when he was in town buying school supplies. She was unmistakable in her high leather boots and corseted black robes with her fabulous hair of pink or orange or blue. She seemed proud and wild as became a Black.

It was his sixth year at Hogwarts that he saw the most of her. She regularly patrolled the school on the lookout for people doing exactly what Draco, on his mission for the Dark Lord, spent much of that year doing—prowling around full of ill intent. He had to take pains to avoid her and so couldn’t help but notice her.

He found himself horribly disappointed.

The fierce and fabulous Nymphadora Tonks of his youth seemed to have dried up entirely. She had become frightfully dull. Her shoulders were stooped, her eyes downcast and her usually festive hair a mousy brown. Though Draco was sure he should have nothing but contempt for the woman he felt rather sorry for her. She had been so much more not so long ago. It seemed a horrible waste.

One day, early in the term, he chanced upon Tonks talking to Ginny Weasley (of all people). She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, her hair tinged pink and red to match Ginny’s. How pretty she could be, how spirited. If only she would light up that way for me, Draco found himself thinking. Then she would be what she was truly meant to be, as terrifyingly unbridled and unpredictable as his Aunt Bellatrix, as sternly beautiful as his mother.

Months passed. Except for that momentary spark Tonks remained dismal and Draco, whose own life seemed more and more out of his control, could hardly blame her for seeming depressed. He was getting a bit depressed himself as his efforts to kill Dumbledore failed again and again. He had to admit he wasn’t much of an assassin. Unfortunately his family was at stake. The pressure weighed him down.

The Christmas season came and went. As second term began Draco spent long hours fiddling with the transporting cabinet, hoping to get it in working order again. During mealtimes or after hours he would sneak off to the Room of Requirement to work at it. Skipping meals, he lost weight. Missing sleep, there were dark circles under his eyes. Avoiding Harry Potter, who shadowed him day and night, he became skittish as a cat.

One night when he was slinking off to the Room of Requirement he rounded a corner and bashed smack into Nymphadora Tonks. Both of them lost their balance, falling to the floor. She looked him over and laughed.

“Cousin Draco I presume,” she said, at least sounding a bit like the old Tonks. “Quite a pair we make, you and me. We look like two rats the cat dragged in. I wonder when the last time was either of us had a bit of fun.”

Huffily Draco got to his feet, straightening his uniform. Still, he was pleased to have her attention and didn’t want to let the opportunity pass without saying something, doing something to make an impression.

“I can scarcely believe a drudge like you is my kin,” he said haughtily.

“I’d rather be a drudge than a bigot any day.”

“Humph.” Draco snorted and started to walk away. He was quite surprised, shocked even, when Tonks reached out with her wand and smacked him across the bottom.

“Show some manners, schoolboy.” She said.

“You struck me!” Draco cried, indignant. Yet part of him had liked it. The sting on his buttocks seemed to make his dick throb.

“I’ll do it again, if provoked,” she said. Her hair looked a bit pinkish at the roots.

“I ought to report you.”

“Report this.” She smacked him again, light and playful. Despite himself he laughed and then in a moment of sheer spontaneous madness he lifted his robe, dropped his pants and flashed his arse at her.

“Ayyyyyy. I’m provoked,” she squealed. He started running and she ran after him, landing the odd blow of her wand on his butt.

Draco reached the door of the Room of Requirement and threw it open. How different it was! Usually it was that horrible cabinet that had taken over his life but today it was a whole other world. A round turret room, brocaded in pink and gold, at its center a huge round bed scattered with—well, everything, toys of all descriptions that Draco couldn’t even imagine the use for.

Draco had intended to dash inside but he stopped dead at the door, staring in wonder. Tonks crashed into him and sent them both sprawling onto the floor.

“Well what’s this?” She asked.

“Apparently it’s what we require.”

“Oi,” Tonks breathed, surveying the bed and its bounty. “What do you say cousin? Shall we play?” Her hair, Draco noted, had turned quite pink. Whatever malaise had gripped her for the past few months was forgotten. As for him, well he couldn’t think much further than the bulging hard-on in his pants. All schemes were put on hold.

“Let’s play,” he said.

“Oh goody,” Tonks cheered, clapping her hands. “Now get your clothes off, there are so many things here to try.”

Obediently, Draco stripped. Tonks grabbed hold of his erection and led him over to the bed. She selected a pink rubber plug about three inches in length that she dipped in a handy jar of ointment.

“Let’s start with this,” she said. “Lie down and spread your cheeks little boy.”

Draco did as he was told. A slick finger slid into his anus, wiggling around provocatively. Draco started humping the bed but Tonks would have none of it. She smacked him hard on the arse. “Stop it,” she ordered. “You’ll get off when I tell you to get off and not before.” She pulled her finger out of him and replaced it with the plug. It was slanted and seemed to touch something deep inside him.

“Delicious,” he whispered. She licked his cheek.

“Never fear, little cousin,” she cooed. “I have so much more in store for you.” She started to take off her own clothes, her robes, heavy jumper and leggings. When she finished all that was left was her black panties, her high leather boots and her laced-up bustier. Draco sat up, grabbed her by the hips. She slapped him across the face. “You can look but not touch,” she said. “Not without my permission. Understand.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Good, get down on all fours. You’re a very naughty boy and I’m going to give you the spanking you deserve.”

She picked up a scourge made of dozens of slender gold threads and struck him across the buttocks with it. Every blow seemed to send a shiver through him, making him throb inside, outside, all over. Draco though he would come in midair as she whaled on him.

“Please,” he begged. “Please.” He didn’t know what he was begging for, if he wanted her to stop or do it harder, if he wanted her to fuck him in the arse or let him put his cock in her or just let him jack off. He whimpered and thrashed under the blows, thrusting his hips against the air.

She stopped at last, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her panties.

“On your knees,” she ordered then beckoned to him. Not rising from his knees, Draco half-walked, half-crawled over to her. She spread her legs, running her fingers through her bush of bright pink pubic hair. “Eat me,” she commanded. “Eat me like you’re starving, boy.”

“Yes ma’am, oh yes.”

She caught his wrists, held onto them so he couldn’t touch himself as he licked and sucked and ate her pussy. She wrapped her legs around his head till his whole world was her hot, wet, pink snatch. His mouth, his nose, his tongue buried in her, pleasuring her. She came again and again while he only throbbed, unable to satisfy himself, his butt clenching against the plug, his cock dripping helplessly.

When Tonks was satisfied she pulled away, caught him by the throat and raised him to his feet.

“You did very well,” she said. “Now as your reward I’m going to fuck you.”

“Please.”

She pushed him back onto the bed, climbed up on top of him so she was straddling him, thighs on either side of his hips, his cock standing up between her legs.

“Please,” he said again.

She grasped his cock, began to rub just the head against her clit. He moaned as she shivered, shuddered as she used his penis to jerk herself off then teasingly she let the head of his cock slip inside her slit. Inch by inch she lowered herself down until the whole length of his cock was clasped inside her.

They moaned together. She laughed and began to bounce and buck on top of him, holding down his hands once more. He thrashed underneath her, pleading and praising, begging and encouraging until at last his whole body stiffened and jerked in orgasm. She used his flaccid penis to get herself off a few more times then patted him on the arse affectionately.

“I’d love to keep you all night long,” she said. “But you have class tomorrow, and I have hallways to patrol. Let me walk you back to your dorm.”

They put their clothes back on and Tonks escorted him back to the Slytherin dorm.

“May I kiss you?” Draco asked before they parted.

“You may.” She said.

He reached up, pressed his lips to hers almost chastely.

“Whatever anyone says,” he told her, “you are a fabulous creature.”

All This... And Nothing: Original Fic

bitterfic — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 16:00:28 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: All This… And Nothing
Fandom: Original
Summary: Hollywood, 1986. A movie based on a controversial novel. Three actors film a missing scene for the visiting author.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 3046
Rating: R
Warnings: Coke snorting, heroin shooting, vodka swilling, simulated rape. Language.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

All This... And Nothing

In 1986, when I was 25 years old and a moderately successful motion picture actor, I was cast as the villain in the screen adaptation of the novel “All This... And Nothing”.

“All This… And Nothing” had been published two years earlier. The author was a twenty two year old boy. Some people considered the book to be sensationalistic trash; others regarded it as the most important literary debut since F. Scott Fitzgerald. I always thought it was both, and neither. That’s just the way I think.

“All This… And Nothing” wasn’t so much a story as a collection of fragments about Chase, a nineteen year old Los Angeles rich kid, who impassively witnesses the downward spiral of his friend Kent into drugs and prostitution. In the book, there was no villain except maybe Kent’s desires. For the movie they needed something more tangible so the minor character of a drug dealer was bulked up and I was cast to play him.

Chase, who in the book is all kinds of passive and ambivalent (not to mention a bisexual cokehead), became a hero for the movie, an angel to my devil. He was played by Alan Winston who was the good boy of the moment. Alan was my age, but like me he looked younger and could be cast accordingly. Alan was girlishly pretty, with soft brown hair, pale skin, pouting lips, and wide gray blue eyes that seemed perpetually hurt. There was a fragility about him that made him irresistibly appealing to his many female fans. It hardly mattered that he was a shit actor, though I felt smugly superior to him on that count. He had no technique and his repertoire consisted of all of three notes. I at least had some training and I liked to think some talent.

I was probably jealous of Alan. He was a leading man; I was the teen movie equivalent of a character actor. Still, I didn’t want to be him. Working with him the year before on a sort of a new wave romance film I’d realized that though barely in his mid-twenties, Alan was already a full-fledged alcoholic.

He was never disruptive or offensive in any way. He always showed up on time and knew his lines but if you paid attention, he was wasted 23 hours a day. A smell of alcohol clung to him, seeping through his pores. In the morning his hands shook until he managed to get enough alcohol in his system. He drank vodka straight out of a Perrier bottle between takes.

By the time we were making “All This… And Nothing” he had managed to stop drinking. He was as quiet about his sobriety as he had been about his alcoholism. His hands still shook but now they did so all day long, he looked dazed, he smelled clean.

Kent, the drug addled lost boy of “All This… And Nothing”, was played by Raymond Morton. Ray, who was twenty two, was a good friend of mine; we’d worked together on two other films. I sort of hated him. He was a fabulous actor, probably better than I would ever be, and not only did he have talent he had pedigree. My parents were teachers. Ray’s mother was the late television star Alma Morton. Rumor had it she’d molested her son and fed him drugs at an early age. I hoped this was true. I hated the fact that Ray was royalty while I was a peasant. It filled me with a cold, silent rage to know he’d had everything handed to him while I was bussing tables. The fact that he had been irreversibly fucked up was some consolation.

Really, Ray was the perfect choice to play Kent. Like Kent he was a bright, spoiled, beautiful boy with a perverse streak and a taste for narcotics. Watching the dailies, it was pretty obvious early on that Ray was going to be the best thing about the film. When I watched his scenes I was half in love with him and genuinely moved by his plight. When he was on screen I hardly noticed banal pretty boy Alan. Or myself.

I blamed the script, which was crap. In my mind I focused more and more on a scene from the book that was missing from the script. In this scene my character, Watt, gives Kent heroin. Kent shoots up and then Watt rapes him while Chase watches, unable to act.

I understood why this scene was not included in the movie. It was 1986; no mainstream studio film was going to show a homosexual rape scene. Furthermore no hero of a mainstream studio film was going to suffer paralysis while his doped up best friend played out said homosexual rape scene. Still, I couldn’t help seeing the absence of the scene as a missed opportunity.

I got into movies for the usual reasons, a desire for money, power and fame, but there was something else I wanted too. I wanted to be both purely myself and someone entirely different simultaneously. In real life, I was a nice guy. I had a wife living in NYC and a one year old daughter. I was polite, good natured and easy to please but what I wanted was to be a whiplash. To dig deep into ugly, nasty characters, to be a user, a vicious asshole, to live out all the anger I stifled every day.

Ray was also into the rape scene. We talked a lot about it and early on he’d actually campaigned to have it included it in the script, despite advisement from his people that it could be detrimental to his career. Ray believed in taking things to extremes, especially degradation. It wasn’t enough for him just to suggest that Kent was a drug addict and a hustler. He wanted to show the depths. Maybe he wanted to experience them. Maybe he was experiencing them. Maybe he already had.

“The author’s in town,” Ray told me one day near the end of shooting. He was all excited even though he looked like death warmed over. “I saw him at a club last night. We did lines together.”

“Lines?” I asked holding up my script.

“Lines.” He said covering one nostril and sniffing.

“Nice,” I said. “No wonder you look like crap.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do. You’ve got black circles around your eyes. Again. Florence in make-up is going to kill you. Again.”

“Shut up, Daniel. You know none of that matters. Aren’t you listening to me? The author is in town.”

“So you said.” I was vaguely excited at the prospect of meeting the literary wunderkind, but I felt distant from the whole party scene he and Ray were a part of. I was a little older, I was married, I had a kid and in my way I was a serious actor. Decadence wasn’t really my thing, I just happened to be making a movie about it.

“He’s going to be on the set tonight.” Ray told me.

“We’re not shooting tonight.”

“We could be. I have this idea, I ran it by some of the tech crew, I thought it would be cool if we did the scene for him.”

“Which scene? There are a lot of scenes.”

“You know which scene I mean. The one that’s not in the script. The one with Kent and Watt and Chase, where Kent shoots heroin…”

“The rape scene.”

“That one.”

“No way that’s going in the film.”

“It wouldn’t be for the film, it would be for the author.”

I took a drag on my cigarette. I was starting to get kind of excited though it seemed like a bad idea to let on to Ray.

“Has Alan agreed to do it?” I asked.

“He said he’d do it if you did,” Ray said.

“Why? Why should it matter to him if I do it or not? He’s the star.”

“He respects you.”

“Maybe I’ll do it then,” I said. I still had reservations however. I had the sense Ray hadn’t told me everything yet.

“There’s more,” Ray said drawing close.

“I thought maybe there was.”

“I want to do the scene for real.”

“What do you mean, for real?”

“I’m going to actually shoot up. I want you to actually fuck me.”

A chill. A thrill.

“No way.”

He smiled.

“You’ll do it,” he said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you want to go there.”

“Go where?”

“There. The deep, dark place. The place I go when I’m beyond wasted where I stop being myself and I’m exactly who I was meant to be. You want to act your way there. I’ve been on three movies with you. Every single one of them you’ve been waiting to really cut loose but you’ve never gotten the chance. This is your chance, you’ll do it.”

He was right.

“Is this some elaborate scheme to get into my pants?” I asked. He laughed, then for some reason I remembered Alan. “Alan agreed to this?”

“Alan said he’d do the scene if you would.”

“Did he agree to do it for real?”

“He doesn’t know,” Ray admitted. “He won’t know till it happens.”

I smiled. I felt the whiplash. I was what I was afraid of.

“It’ll be the best performance he’s ever given,” I said.

We met on a hotel room set that was used briefly in the film and read through the pages of script Ray had put together. It was straight out of the book—Kent shows up at Watt’s place with Chase in tow to tell Watt he’s through with drugs and hustling. Watt doesn’t argue, he just offers Kent a bag of heroin. Kent accepts and shoots up. Then Watt has sex with the barely conscious Kent while Chase watches, paralyzed.

I’d never seen Alan so nervous. Before actual shoots he was usually calm and composed. That night though he was a wreck, pacing, gnawing his fingernails, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

“Are you okay?” I asked. Alan nodded, and then shook his head.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

I knew I should let him go. If he was this jittery already he was going to crack when he realized what Ray and I had planned, but I sort of wanted him to crack. I put my arm around his shoulders.

“It’s no big deal,” I said. “It’s one take. It’ll be less than ten minutes. You’ll be fine.”

“Have you seen this author guy?” Alan asked.

“Not yet.”

“He looks like me. That really freaks me out.”

Ray winked at me. In my pocket was a packet of heroin he’d slipped me before Alan arrived. There was a set of works waiting on a prop dresser. We were going to do it. He was going to shoot up, I was going to fuck him, and Alan was going to watch. It would all be real, none of it would be real.

The author came in.

He did look like Alan. He was taller, more substantially built and not quite as pretty but he did look eerily similar. The same wavy brown hair, pale skin, wide eyes and round face. The same shaky hands. There was a man with the author, and a woman. His boyfriend and girlfriend, Ray whispered to me. Also with him were a couple studio high-ups who introduced us around.

The lights came up. Alan, Ray and I took our places.

“Ready?” Ray asked.

“Ready.” I said.

Someone called action and everything changed. I was Watt, Ray was Kent and though Alan was still Alan, that didn’t matter. He was just a guy who was there with Kent. Kent was the one I wanted. I’d been working on him for nearly a year, feeding him drugs, breaking him down. He was almost ready, all I had to do was push him a little further and he’d be mine. I’d own him. He was talking to me, saying he wanted out. I wasn’t listening. He was almost mine. I touched him however I wanted, called him “baby”. He winced, kept talking.

“Kent, let’s get out of here…” the pale kid with him was whining but that kid didn’t exist to me. All I saw was Kent. Soon, I was going to posses him completely. I was getting hard just thinking about it.

“Do you hear me, Watt?” Kent asked. “It’s over, I’m finished.”

“Sure, baby. I believe you.”

I offered him the heroin. Kent whimpered a little and I knew I had him. The other kid grabbed him by the arm but Kent swatted him away, started preparing the smack.

“Don’t,” the kid pleaded but Kent did. He shot up and when he did the kid’s eyes grew wide with terror. I didn’t care. I felt only triumph.

Kent let me lead him to the bed and fell limply onto it. Mine, all mine.

I didn’t have a wife in NYC. I didn’t have a one year old daughter. I was a drug dealer named Watt who finally had a pretty rich boy right where I wanted him. I swooped down on Kent, kissing his slack mouth.

“Don’t,” he said weakly as I yanked down his pants, ran my hand over his bare ass. “Stop. This isn’t what I wanted…”

“What are you doing,” Chase, Alan, the anonymous kid was whining. He was there but he might as well not have been, he was rooted to the spot, frozen in place. I put on a condom. “Oh my God, Daniel, what are you doing? Daniel, don’t…”

Kent screamed weakly when I entered him. After that it only took a minute, a few hard thrusts and I was done with him. I fell on top of him, stroking his hair. Mine, all mine.

Somebody called cut, the lights went down. Ray moaned. His pants were down around his knees and he was bleeding where he’d shot himself up. I covered him up with the bedspread, helped him sit up.

“You okay?” I asked. He said he was then turned and threw up.

I got to my feet and slipped off the used condom. There was nowhere to put it so I let it fall to the floor. I zipped up my pants. My legs felt weak, I felt shaky, drained but somehow fulfilled.

It was only then that I noticed Alan. He was still standing there, staring, his eyes huge. Tears were running down his face.

The author came over to him. They stood face to face and for a moment it was hard to tell who was who.

“It was real.” Alan said.

“And you’re not,” the author said with great kindness. “That’s how I felt when I wrote it.” He leaned in and I thought he was going to kiss Alan but instead he licked a tear off his cheek. Alan crumbled to the floor.

One of the tech guys took a reel of film out of the handheld camera they’d been shooting with and handed it to the author.

“I’ll cherish it always,” he said. Someone had a mirror, a credit card, some coke and we all did lines—the studio higher-ups, the author, his boyfriend and girlfriend, the techies, me, and Alan—everyone but Ray who had passed out. Later that night, I saw Alan drinking a tumbler of vodka. He looked steady.

Maybe there were other factors in play but it always seemed to me that that night destroyed Alan and Raymond.

We had five days of shooting left on “All This… And Nothing.” Alan finished the movie in a daze, shock in his eyes, and alcohol on his breath. After that he sort of faded away over the course of three more films. I haven’t heard of him in years.

Ray you couldn’t help hearing about. His drug problems expanded and bloomed like an atomic mushroom cloud. Kent turned out to be a premonition of what he would become, a used up junkie, a body for sale.

It’s always seemed to me that that night made me.

It was the first time I’d really followed through with the feeling I called the whiplash. After that night I knew I could become anything, no matter how horrifying. Later I would figure out that I could also become anything no matter how mundane.

Time passes.

Seven years after that night, the author wrote another book, a book so cruel, so hideous and violent that writing it was almost viewed as a criminal act. Around this time I saw an interview with him.

“How could you write this?” He was asked.

“It was real,” he answered. “And I wasn’t.”

Sixteen years after I fucked him, Ray showed up hoping for a repeat performance. He was at a low point in his life, completely consumed by his drug addiction.

“Fuck me again,” he said. He didn’t want me. He wanted it to be Watt and Kent all over again. He wanted that degradation. Maybe that was always what he’d wanted. I threw him out.

“Come back when you’re cleaned up,” I told him. Three years later he did get sober. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m waiting for him.

Time passes.

My daughter, who was just a year old when I made “All This… And Nothing” is now older than the author was when his novel came out, older than Ray was the night we played the scene.

So many of the fears I once had I’ve learned to live with or to live without. The anger I felt towards Ray and Alan, that sense of rivalry, hardly seems real anymore. It seems to me that they were broken boys. I wonder how I could have resented them like I did. Maybe I was more broken myself than I realized.

In twenty-plus years, I’ve seen nothing of the film that was shot that night. It never appeared on Youtube, I’ve never even heard rumors of its existence. For whatever reason, the author must have kept it to himself, those images of my young body and Ray’s slamming together like the cheapest kind of pornography, and Alan’s very real cries of “Daniel, don’t…”

Monthly Round-Up July 2010

bitterfic — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 14:05:02 GMT

I'm still accepting prompts for the A to Z Drabble Meme.

A Song of Ice and Fire
K is for King, Stannis/Davos, PG-13. Generally, debauchery was something Stannis left to his brothers.

Chronicles of Narnia*
S is for Shaving, Caspian/Edmund (past Edmund/White Witch, R. Edmund’s first shave.

Criminal Minds
V is for Valium, Garcia/Reid, PG-13. Reid was careful not to let his co-workers know about his drug use but one day he slipped….

Eastern Promises
D is for Disheveled, Nikolai/Kirill, R. Kirill doesn’t like being left out.

Less Than Zero*
The First Step, Julian/Rip, R. Julian takes the first steps on his downward spiral (with a little encouragement from Rip).
Magical Thinking, Blair/Julian/Clay, R. Blair was a Hollywood princess, she believed in Hollywood magic. Special effects. Happy endings…
Look To The Woman, Blair. Fanmix for Less than Zero/Imperial Bedrooms.
People's Parties, Julian/Rip, Julian/Multiple, R. Rip takes Julian to a private party where he’s the entertainment.

Original
Unsent Letter, Clara met Matt when they were both working as cashiers at an upscale supermarket in Chicago.

RPF*
Relapse, Kiefer Sutherland/Robert Downey Jr., R. Robert had been out of rehab for three weeks when he ran into Kiefer Sutherland…

*new fandom

People's Parties: Less Than Zero Fic

bitterfic — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 12:05:35 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: People’s Parties
Fandom: Less Than Zero
Pairing: Julian/Rip, Julian/Multiple
Summary: Rip takes Julian to a private party where he’s the entertainment.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1069
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use. Language. Prostitution. Group sex. Dubious consent and a twist of incest.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

I feel like I'm sleeping
Can you wake me?
You seem to have a broader sensibility
I'm just living on nerves and feelings
With a weak and a lazy mind
And coming to people’s parties
Fumbling deaf dumb and blind

People’s Parties
Joni Mitchell

People’s Parties

“Where are we going?” Julian asked.

“To a hotel in Beverley Hills,” Rip said. “There’s a private party, very exclusive.” He was driving fast through the rainy night. All the lights and all the colors of Los Angeles seemed to bleed together.

“A private party,” Julian repeated vacantly. He lit his pipe and inhaled a lungful of toxic smoke. Stopped at a light, Rip eyed him nervously. Left to his own devices Julian was like one of those rats in an experiment that ate itself to death. He used without restraint till he ran out of drugs or someone stopped him. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed himself. Yet.

“It’ll be a blast, sweetheart,” Rip said and reassuringly squeezed Julian’s knee.

The hotel had valet parking. Rip surrendered his car keys and taking Julian’s arm led him into the elevator. Top floor, the penthouse suite. All very lavish. Rip knocked and the door was opened by a tall man wearing a robe of dark blue silk. He was perhaps fifty, handsome and distinguished with piercing blue eyes and graying blonde hair.

“Hello, George,” Rip said. “This is Julian.”

“Yes, the Wells boy, I remember,” George said. “Bring him in. We’ve been waiting. You’re twenty minutes late.”

“Sorry, traffic.”

“Sure, Rip. Always with the excuses.”

George pulled them in to the suite. The lights were low and dance music was playing loudly. In the darkness were about a dozen men in various stages of undress. They took notice of Rip and Julian’s entrance and began to move in around them.

“Gentlemen, the entertainment has arrived.” George announced.

Julian froze. He’d expected a couple of men, not so many.

“There are too many,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

“Rip, is this going to be a problem?” George asked. There was a note of menace in his voice. One of the men, whose robe hung open revealing his nakedness, reached out and caressed Julian’s cheek. Julian flinched.

“Give us a minute,” Rip said. “I just need to talk to him.”

“Use the bedroom,” George said gesturing towards an open door.

“Thanks.”

Rip took Julian’s hand firmly in his own and dragged him into the bedroom. George followed. The minute the door was shut he grabbed Julian by the collar and started shaking him.

“What is your problem you fucking piece of shit?” He demanded. “You get out there and do what you’re being paid to do or I’ll drop you out the window.”

“Leave him alone, George,” Rip intervened. “Let me handle this.”

“You’d better handle this,” George said. “Because if he’s not out there sucking cock in five minutes you’re going to be.” Abruptly he released Julian, who crumbled to the floor and started hyperventilating. Rip knelt beside him, hugging Julian to his chest, stroking his hair.

“Julian, sweetheart, calm down. Look at me,” Rip ordered gently pressing his forehead to Julian’s. “This is really important to me. You need to get out there and make these men happy or we’re both going to be in big trouble.”

“I can’t,” Julian said shaking his head.

“You’ll be okay. I’ll be right here with you making sure nothing happens to you. If you don’t do this, I’m going to have to cut you off completely. No more drugs.”

“Oh God, don’t,” Julian begged. “Don’t cut me off, Rip.”

“I won’t have a choice.”

“Please, don’t. I’ll do whatever you want me to; just give me something to get me through it…”

“Are you kidding?” George yelled. “Don’t give him anything. He can hardly stand as it is. If he gets any more he’ll be fucking unconscious.”

Rip took a packet of powder out of his pocket.

“This is heroin, sweetheart,” he said to Julian. “If I give you this will you be able to go out there and do what you have to do?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“If he takes that he’ll be a zombie.” George yelled. “He won’t be able to suck anyone off.”

“They can fuck him,” Rip snapped. “They can fuck him and I won’t charge extra.” George laughed at that, suddenly affable.

“Okay.” He said.

Julian had already torn into the packet and was frantically snorting its contents up; rubbing what was left on his gums. When he was finished Rip and George guided him out of the bedroom and into the arms of the first man who came forward.

Julian was mostly out of it for what happened next. He was stripped, fondled by multiple hands; he was fucked by first one man then another. Most of them took him from behind, letting him drift in and out of consciousness so that they blurred together. Only George insisted on distinguishing himself. He made Julian turn over onto his back when he fucked him and grabbed him by the hair, slapping him on the face, forcing him to be in himself, to look George in the eye.

Through it all Rip prowled nearby smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Julian woke up back in the bedroom, sprawled naked on the bed barely conscious of who or where he was. Rip was there, examining him clinically. Julian winced at first as Rip’s slicked fingers probed his asshole then he relaxed, let it happen.

“You’re okay,” Rip said. “A few bruises but I don’t think anything’s torn. I made them use condoms.”

He gave Julian a line of coke, enough to make him feel half human, enough so that he could get into the shower on his own.

He stood under the hot water for a long time, washing or wishing away the residue of the night before.

He wondered if it was still raining.

When he came back into the bedroom George and Rip were talking by the door.

“I’ll give you the price we agreed on but your friend was pathetic,” George said as though Julian wasn’t in the room. “Next time bring me a boy with some cognitive ability.” He passed Rip a wad of bills.

“You loved every minute of it,” Rip said with a sneer, pocketing the money.

“Take care of yourself, Rip,” George said. He kissed Rip on the mouth and left the room.

“Who is he?” Julian asked blankly. He wasn’t sure why it mattered but somehow it seemed to. “Do I know him?”

Rip laughed.

“I thought you’d recognize him,” Rip said. “Even though it’s been a few years. That was my father.”

Unsent Letter: Original Fic

bitterfic — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 20:46:53 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Unsent Letter
Fandom: Original
Summary: Clara met Matt when they were both working as cashiers at an upscale supermarket in Chicago.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1131
Contains: Het, angst, mentions of alcohol abuse, sexuality.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Unsent Letter

Clara met Matt when they were both working as cashiers at an upscale supermarket in Chicago. The first two things she found out about them were that he did stand-up and that he was working towards a master’s degree in math. Having no sense of humor and being functionally illiterate when it came to numbers Clara was immediately attracted to him.

Matt wasn’t a pretty boy. He was Mexican on his mother’s side, Anglo on his father’s, short and solidly built, slightly cross-eyed. He wore 50’s nerd glasses and wore his dark hair short and spiky. He wore simple studs in each ear and had a tattoo on his arm that consisted of three dots which formed an off-kilter triangle.

He was also twenty-five whereas Clara was thirty-six.

Clara nursed her attraction to Matt for over a year, during which time he was promoted to her supervisor. That was no surprise. People generally passed her by as Clara stood still or moved painfully slowly. After a year she decided to make her move with Matt. Said move consisted of standing very close to him in the cash-up office. He seemed to like it well enough so in an uncharacteristic burst of aggression she e-mailed him asking if they might go out.

As it turned out, Matt had just started seeing someone else.

That should have been that, but Clara had never been good at letting go. The more she found out about Matt the more interested she was. Especially when she found out that he used to be fat.

Clara had been fat herself. She’d weighed 270 pounds when she was a freshman in college. Four years later, after graduating, she lost more than half her weight. Since then, day to day, she’d fought a desperate battle to stay thin. Knowing that Matt had gone through something similar made her feel close to him, tender towards him.

He didn’t seem to mind her. They even went out for drinks a couple times before Matt left the supermarket to work full time on a second master’s degree in literature. Things had ended between he and his girlfriend by now, that gave Clara an odd sort of hope even though he was gone.

Gone, but still in the same city, and Clara managed to keep tabs on him through his roommate Hugh, who worked at the supermarket. Hugh was an actor, magnetic and outgoing. He could flirt and joke with anyone, even Clara. Sometimes he teased her about her interest in Matt, telling her she could do better, that she could find someone taller. Sometimes he told her more seriously that it wouldn’t work out, that Matt was a boy and she needed a man.

Matt’s boyishness, like his math, was part of his charm for Clara. She admired his bravado and cockiness because it was something beyond her fathoming. She loved his sarcastic sense of humor and the pranks he had always played on customers, telling them their cell phones interfered with a non-existent pacemaker, slipping double-entendres into routine conversation. She liked his ambition, his numerous degrees and academic success. Clara herself was floundering, frequently sick, always alone, barely holding onto her cashier job.

The spring she was thirty-seven, Clara decided to leave Chicago to go back to her parents’ in Upstate New York. She started drinking in earnest that summer as she made preparations, a bottle of wine a day instead of a few drinks every month. She thought it improved her disposition greatly.

She saw Matt a few times during this period. He was seeing someone, finishing his second master’s degree and teaching math. Wine drunk she felt closer to him than ever and further away. Right before Clara left Chicago, Matt came to her going away party with his age appropriate girlfriend. Clara moved away. That was that. They’d never even kissed.

Still, Clara kept an eye on him, through friends, through the internet.

She found out he was thinking of moving to Los Angeles to get a doctorate. She saw pictures of him and his age appropriate girlfriend at his twenty-seventh birthday party. By now she’d stopped drinking. Alcohol had become another of the many things she wanted but could not have.

Someone posted a picture of Matt on the internet. In it he was eighteen and very fat, puffy faced and wide bodied, so different from the birthday party pictures.

Seeing it, Clara felt an incredibly strong kinship to Matt. For days she had an almost overwhelming urge to be with him, to take him on her lap like a little boy, to feel his spiky hair against her cheek, to kiss him tenderly, to make love to him.

She dreamed about Matt.

In her dream she was back in college and fat herself. She was so repulsive to most people that all her roommates moved out of the dorm room they shared and left her all alone. So she drank (even though in real life she had been sober for several months). Her sister came to visit her in the empty dorm room and seeing that Clara was drunk called the hospital to come and get her.

Clara snuck out the back door and went to Hugh and Matt’s room. They were in their bunk beds watching porn on television. Matt pulled back his sheet and Clara got into bed with him. Running her hand down his hairy chest and stomach, she found that he was hard. His cock was long and thin and she was able to swallow it down into her throat. Swallow him.

She was disturbed by the dream. Clara wasn’t delusional; she knew Matt didn’t want her. She knew her fantasies and dreams and even the kinship she felt to him didn’t really have much to do with the person he was yet they felt so real, so strong.

In a magazine, Clara read about Rose, the sister of playwright Tennessee Williams, and how she had been lobotomized in part because of her vivid and overwhelming sexual fantasies. She wondered if it wouldn’t be better that way, to simply no longer think the things she thought, to no longer create false hopes or one-sided passions, to no longer have fantasies that could never be fulfilled.

Either way, she was glad Matt didn’t need her, that there was a girl he wanted who could appreciate him in his adorableness, hold him in her lap and make love to him, crawl into his bed and suck his cock without sucking his soul away. Someone real, who he really wanted. Knowing he had that, Clara could look at the picture of Matt as he had been without being sad.

She wrote him a letter that said all these things.

She never sent it.

Relapse: RPF

bitterfic — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 15:24:59 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Relapse
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Kiefer Sutherland/Robert Downey Jr.
Summary: Robert had been out of rehab for three weeks when he ran into Kiefer Sutherland…
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1032
Rating: R
Warnings: Evil Bastard!Kiefer. Alcohol abuse, references to drug use, sexual situations, possible dubious consent.
Author’s Note: This story is set in 2000 or 2001 when RDJ was in and out of rehab. It was written for zoi_no_miko for Oxoniensis’ Porn Battle X. This is my first attempt at RPF and I feel mighty guilty.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Relapse

Robert had been out of rehab for three weeks when he ran into Kiefer Sutherland.

There was something between them, not exactly friendship, but years of half-remembered partying so Robert accepted an invitation to Kiefer’s hotel room.

It was an old hotel, a stately art nouveau palace. Kiefer had the executive suite, a lavish apartment with a full bar that he immediately sidled up to. Never taking his eyes off Robert he took out a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers that he filled to the brim.

“Just out of rehab, huh,” Kiefer said.

“I was in for three months. I’m 112 days sober.” Robert said.

“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” Kiefer laughed, “but going that long without getting fucked up hardly seems like a good thing.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“To each his own, but why don’t you have one last drink with me before you put it all away. “

Robert shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, it’s just you and me.”

“Sorry, no. You don’t know what I’ve been through these last past few months. Court, detox, rehab. If I were to touch that drink I’d be right back to square one and I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m asking you to smoke crack with me.”

“It is. It’s exactly like that. I’m an addict, I’ve finally accepted that. If I let myself have one drink I’ll let myself have another and another and another then the next thing you know I will be smoking crack. And shooting heroin and…”

“Don’t get so excited, Bob.” Kiefer said putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just one drink.” As if to stress the point he lifted one of the glasses, drained it and filled it again. “No big deal.”

“It is to me. I can’t help myself. That’s just the way I am.”

“Then why fight it? Because a judge told you to?”

“Because I want to get my life back together. I can’t work right now. No one will hire me, no one will insure me. I’m untouchable and I deserve to be. I’ve been given so many chances and I’ve blown them all. I’m tired of being a fuck up. I’m tired of waking up not knowing where or who I am. I have to make it work this time.”

“That’s very impassioned.” Kiefer said pushing a glass towards him. “It’s bullshit, but impassioned bullshit. Have a drink.”

“I told you, no.”

“For old time’s sake.” Kiefer said and smiled his most infectious smile. Robert couldn’t help being charmed.

“We do have quite a history, don’t we,” he sighed.

“Remember the first time we went out, don’t you?”

“Not much of it in all honesty…”

“It was back when I was still seeing Julia, maybe around 1990. We were in LA. We got wasted and hooked up with those girls from Jumbo’s Clown Room.”

“Oh my God, yes. We went back to your place.”

“You wanted your girl to tie you up but she wouldn’t do it…”

“She said she was ‘a designated bottom’ and she didn’t top under any circumstances…”

“Then I ended up holding you down while both girls had their way with you…”

“That I remember. God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it but I can’t do that anymore.”

“You can do anything you want. You and I are second generation royalty.”

“Now that is bullshit. Thinking that way is one thing when you’re eighteen but come on, we’ll be 40 in a few years….”

Kiefer wasn’t listening, he was downing another drink.

“Tell me something, Bob,” he said when he was finished. “When we were with those girls that time, why did you want to be tied up?”

Robert’s eyes widened.

“It’s easier when you don’t have control,” he said.

“Is that what you want? Would it be easier for you to have this drink if I forced it on you?”

“Enough with the drink, I told you I can’t…”

“You said you can’t but you didn’t say you didn’t want it. I think you want it.”

“Of course I want it but I’m not going to have it.”

“You see, that’s crazy. If you want to drink, drink. Get wasted. That’s the only way you’ve ever been happy. I know enough about you to know that for you being sober is like getting your dick cut off.”

Kiefer drained his whiskey glass and grabbed Robert by the shirtfront.

“Kiss me,” he said.

“No.”

Ignoring the refusal, Kiefer pressed his mouth against Robert’s, forcing his tongue inside. Robert tasted the whiskey, the bite of the alcohol. His whole body went limp with anticipation. It didn’t help that Kiefer was palming his dick through his pants, making him writhe in helpless ecstasy.

Kiefer broke the kiss, taking his hand off Robert’s dick he lifted the full glass of whiskey and lifted it to Robert’s lips.

“Drink it,” he ordered. Robert did. It burned down his throat into his stomach. He closed his eyes, let himself die a little. “You see,” Kiefer said wickedly. “You’re fine. Have another.” He refilled the glass. Robert, rubbing against him, drank this one without being told. After four or five glasses he didn’t even wait for Kiefer to pour, he drank straight out of the bottle.

“You are one crazy motherfucker, Bob,” Kiefer laughed. Robert was sprawled over the bar, Kiefer unbuckling his belt from behind.

“I need to call my dealer,” Robert gasped.

“Use my phone.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything to you. Like you said, you’re an addict. This is what you are, this is what you do. Stop pretending you’re someone else. Stop acting when the cameras aren’t running.” He pushed a phone into Robert’s hands. “Call your dealer.”

Robert dialed the number (he knew it by heart), had a short, pointed conversation with the man who answered and gave him the address of Kiefer’s hotel.

“He’ll be here in half an hour.” Robert said. His pants were down around his ankles and Kiefer was insistently grinding his hard-on against his ass.

“That’s more than enough time,” Kiefer said.

Look To The Woman: Less Than Zero/Imperial Bedrooms Fanmix

bitterfic — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 18:02:00 GMT

Medium: Books
Fandom: Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero and Imperial Bedrooms
Subject: Blair
Title: Look To the Woman
Warnings: Spoilers for Imperial Bedrooms.

1. The Bangles "A Hazy Shade of Winter"
"They made a movie about us." Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

2. Culture Club "Do You Really To Hurt Me"
"...yes, she had given me a scarf at a Christmas party, and yes, she had danced over to me mouthing Culture Club's 'Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?' and yes, she called me a 'fox'..." Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

3. The Go-Go's "Good Girl"
"I cared about you for a little while." Blair, Less Than Zero

4. Helium "Honeycomb"
"It was like you weren't there." Blair, Less Than Zero

5. Donovan "Season of the Witch"
"Who is she? I ask. She's a witch, the voice says. Like all of them." Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

6. Tori Amos "You Belong To Me"
"Blair takes my hand again. I think I realize what she wants..." Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

7. Hole "Hungry Like the Wolf"
"I feel Blair's fingers lightly stroking my face. Just go where she says, the voice sighs. But she's a witch, I whisper back, still staring at the car. And her hand is a claw... Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

8. X "The World's A Mess (It's In My Kiss)"
"Did you ever love me?" Blair, Less Than Zero

9. The Doors "The End"
"When Julian starts screaming, weeping for his dead mother, the video goes black." Clay, Imperial Bedrooms

10. Pet Shop Boys "Rent"
"I guess I want something in return." She pauses. "From you." Blair, Imperial Bedrooms.

Download (change xx to tt)-
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/file/5853qydf5oze5nq/Look To The Woman - An Imperial Bedrooms Fanmix.rar

Individual tracks (xx to tt)-
hxxp://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=d4cddca83cee7aca374f3b66375001fa160d48107e06def3d8456c6fcee850d72e9bdfdfda5423e7e9ebfc6fa7e65b9c

Magical Thinking: Less Than Zero Fic

bitterfic — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 20:32:27 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Magical Thinking
Fandom: Less Than Zero
Pairing: Blair/Julian/Clay
Summary: Blair was a Hollywood princess, she believed in Hollywood magic. Special effects. Happy endings…
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 654
Rating: R
Contains: Threesome, impotency, references to drug use and prostitution.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Magical Thinking

Blair was a Hollywood princess, she believed in Hollywood magic. Special effects. Happy endings. She believed that Julian would be okay now that Clay was back, and because she wanted it with her whole heart and being.

Julian was sick all that night. Blair and Clay took care of him. Finally all three of them had fallen asleep, Julian fitful, sweating, stripped down to his black briefs, Clay and Blair fully clothed, exhausted, wrapped up in each other as lovers are.

Before dawn, Blair opened her eyes. On the other side of the bed Julian was already awake, propped up on an elbow watching her and Clay sleep. There was something wistful in his expression, wistful and lost. She thought he looked lonely, lonelier than anyone she had ever seen.

“Don’t mind me,” he said and she thought she would cry. She reached out, opened her arms to him. He came to her, snuggled against her. After all it hadn’t been so long since the two of them were lovers.

Julian had stopped sleeping with Blair not long after Clay had discovered them over Thanksgiving. He didn’t say why but Blair knew that this was about the time Rip had started asking Julian for favors, introducing him to strangers in hotel rooms, inviting him to private parties. Gossip ran rampant and Blair heard things she would rather not hear. She knew the ugly truths that Julian was trying to protect her from.

She kissed him. That was the only thing she knew how to do. Blair was a model. Being beautiful, being desirable was her only skill, her only virtue. She believed in the power of her beauty and desirability. She kissed Julian with all her will and strength of character.

He tasted of vomit, his mouth was cold. His whole body was cold, though clammy with sweat. She slid off his briefs, cradling his penis in her warm hand. He moaned at her touch but remained flaccid. The state he was in, Julian couldn’t have had a hard on to save his life.

For a moment, panic gripped Blair. She had honestly believed she could fuck him better but that wasn’t an option.

Then Clay stirred beside her and she knew that everything would be alright, if only Clay would stay. When Clay had caught her in bed with Julian over Thanksgiving he’d been angry and hurt but now she believed he would understand, understand what she was trying to do, understand the spell she was trying to work, accept the fact that she had her hand around Julian’s cock and her tongue down his throat.

Clay’s eyes opened, first groggily, then wide. Wide and shocked and frightened. His arms were still around Blair but he could see that she was caressing Julian, kissing Julian. Please, Blair prayed to whatever power it was she prayed to, please let him stay. Please let him understand.

Clay buried his face in Blair’s hair even as he reached across her to squeeze Julian’s shoulder. He understood, he accepted, he joined in. Blair breathed, she smiled, she believed. Everything was going to be okay.

Clay and Julian kissed each other. There was a familiarity to it that made Blair think it wasn’t the first time but that didn’t matter. Julian was naked in their arms, her arms and Clay’s. They could save him.

Julian unbuttoned Clay’s pants, started sucking his cock as Clay kissed Blair, one hand on her cheek, one hand on Julian’s hair. Then it was Julian who was kissing her, Clay inside her, fucking her, all of them tangled up, on top of and around each other. Clay came inside her and when he pulled out his come and Blair’s come splattered over Julian, smeared over his stomach, his flaccid cock, his cold, used up body.

Blair had to believe that there was magic in it, that somehow it would keep him with them.

V is for Valium: Criminal Minds Fic

bitterfic — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 12:00:34 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: V is for Valium
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Reid/Garcia
Summary: Reid was careful not to let his co-workers know about his drug use but one day he slipped….
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 815
Rating: PG-13
Contains: Drug use, accidental groping.
Author’s Note: Written for lawless523 for the A to Z Meme.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

V is for Valium

Reid was careful about his drug use. Usually he took just enough to keep himself on an even keel, to take the edges off but not to get high. He didn’t crave intoxication, functional numbness was more his style.

Unfortunately sometimes things went wrong.

The drugs might be strong, or weak. Sometimes they would burn through his system leaving him shaking and wanting more. Sometimes they would linger long after they ought to have been metabolized and sometimes he would get fucked up. As much as Reid wanted his addiction to be an exact science it wasn’t.

There was a margin for error and it caught up with him on an otherwise insignificant Tuesday morning. He took no more than he usually did but he found himself reeling, unable to walk or think straight.

There was nothing to be done; he couldn’t go into work high so he called in sick. He claimed he had the flu and managed not to slur his words too much. With work safely out of the way he took a couple extra valium and resigned himself to a day of oblivion.

Said oblivion was rudely shattered at approximately 11:00 a.m. when Penelope Garcia appeared at his door. His brain was so addled that it didn’t occur to him to not answer the door until he already had.

“I was talking to Gideon and we both agreed that someone should come and look in on you,” she said. “You’ve seemed sort of off these past few weeks and I was thinking it might be more than just a virus…”

She stopped abruptly.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Uh huh,” Reid said nodding emphatically.

“There’s something wrong with your eyes,” Garcia said.

“No there’s not.”

“They’re glassy, your pupils are dilated. Oh my God, you’re on something.”

“Medicine. Flu medicine.”

“That’s awfully vague, Reid. When you had an ear infection last year you told me the molecular make-up of the meds they had you on. Maybe if you weren’t so high you could be more specific.”

“I’m not high.”

He meant to walk away from her, but he lost his balance and fell into her instead. She caught him and for a moment she was holding him against her full bosom. For an instant he forgot their argument and simply enjoyed it. Weren’t breasts supposed to represent the comfort of the mother after all? Not his mother of course. His mother didn’t have a body, only a brain, an intellect, a mind that had dominated all things by its strengths and then by its weaknesses. Mother not as a source of comfort but of anxiety.

He realized that he was saying most of this out loud and that his hands were firmly grasping Garcia’s breasts. He let go, he backed away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re all messed up. Tell me what you’re taking.” Garcia pleaded. She was near panic but controlling herself. “I need to know.”

Reid sunk to the floor, vaguely aware that his worst case scenario was coming true, that someone from work had discovered his secret.

“Drugs,” he finally said. “Narcotics, painkillers, sedatives. A is for Ambien, B is for Barbiturates, C is for Chloral Hydrate, D is for Dilaudid…. There are a whole bunch of other letters too, I just can’t remember them all even though I’m supposed to be so smart. S is for Seconal, T is for Triazolam, V is for Valium.” He remembered the additional pills he’d taken that morning. “V is definitely for Valium. Would you mind leaving now? I’d like to pass out.”

“No.” Garcia said. “There is no way I’m leaving you like this. I’m calling an ambulance. How is your central nervous system even functioning?” He must have nodded off, the next thing he realized she was on the floor beside him, shaking him awake.

“Don’t call anyone,” he said. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re not okay. How long have you been doing this?”

“A while…”

“Since the Tobias Hankel case?”

“How did you know?”

“Something’s been off since then. We’ve all been worried about you. You haven’t been yourself, we want you back.”

“I am myself when I take the drugs. I’m who I should be. Nothing bothers me.”

“You’re killing yourself…”

“I’m staying alive. You don’t know what it’s like. When I don’t take the drugs everything hurts.”

“Because of what Hankel did to you?”

“Because of my mother. Because of my father. Because of who I am. It’s always hurt; I just never knew how to make the pain go away until Tobias showed me. “

She reached out, stroked his hair gently.

“You need help, Reid. Let me get you help.”

“Please, not yet. Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

She hugged him tight and started to cry.

“They’re going to know, baby,” she sobbed. “They’re going to know.”

The First Step: Less Than Zero Fic

bitterfic — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 12:19:33 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: The First Step
Fandom: Less Than Zero
Pairing: Rip/Julian
Summary: Julian takes the first steps on his downward spiral (with a little encouragement from Rip).
Beta Reader: Fedink
Rating: R
Contains: Drug use, dubious consent, sexual content, foot fetishism.
Author’s Note: Set a few weeks before the film (Julian only owes Rip $40,000).
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

The First Step

Julian was in bad shape—sweating profusely, visibly trembling—when he showed up at Rip’s door. Rip, who was uncharacteristically alone, graciously invited him in.

“You’ve got to give me something,” Julian said the minute the door closed. It was half demand, half plea. Rip smiled, put an arm around him.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Rip cooed. “Whatever you need, but you’re going to have to give me a little something in return.”

“I’m fucked,” Julian said, growing more and more agitated. “I’ve got nothing. My dad’s cut me off. This time he means it. I don’t have any money. I can’t get any like this. Please, Rip, you’ve got to give me something. I’m sick. If I can just get myself straightened out I can pay you back. I’ll give you everything I owe you and more, I swear.”

“Julian.”

“I swear on my fucking mother’s grave. I mean it, Rip. Just do this for me this one time.”

“Breathe.”

On command, Julian gasped for breath and started hyperventilating. He collapsed onto the floor begging “Please, Rip. Please help me.”

Rip stroked his tousled, dark hair. His manner was gentle, soothing, but his eyes were never less than predatory.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Rip said. “I’ll help you. I’ll hook you up.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“I just want one thing from you, one little thing.” Rip said. He took a set of works from a drawer, started filling a syringe from a vial of heroin.

“Anything,” Julian said. He was practically salivating, shaking all over, his eyes fixed on the needle. “I swear. I will do anything you want.”

“All I want,” Rip said calmly, “is to give you the shot.”

“That’s it?” Julian asked, laughing nervously. “That’s all you want?”

“That’s all I want.”

“Do it then. Fucking do it with my blessing.” Frantically Julian started rolling up his sleeve. Rip shook his head, tapping the syringe to get out the air bubbles.

“Not in your arm,” he said.

Julian got nervous at that.

“Where then?” He asked. His voice was shaking as much as his body. Rip sat down beside him, laid the syringe on the carpet.

“Your foot. Is that okay? I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Uh yeah, I guess that’s okay. No big deal. Let me take my shoe off….”

“I’ll do it.”

He took Julian’s foot in his hands. Julian was wearing soft black ballet-style slippers that strapped over his socks.

“Nice,” Rip said. Julian pulled his foot away.

“This is getting kind of weird, Rip,” he said.

“Do you want the shot, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Julian said desperately, fighting back tears and panic.

“Then let me give it to you.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Once again Rip took Julian’s foot, cradled it to his chest, stroking the shoe before he slid it off. He picked it up, held it over his mouth and nose inhaling deeply. Julian fidgeted, twitching nervously, but said nothing. By now he had a pretty good idea what Rip wanted from him and he wasn’t going to stand in the way so long as his fix was the end result. Still, he was frightened and revolted.

Rip laid the shoe aside, returning his attention to Julian’s foot, turning it over in his hands, pressing it to his cheek, stroking it. He ran a hand up Julian’s calf then slid his fingers between Julian’s sock and his skin. Caressing the curve of Julian’s heel, then his instep, Rip drew the sock down and off, interlacing his fingers with Julian’s toes as it fell to the floor.

“Can I have the shot now?” Julian asked.

“Shhhh.” Rip said and buried his face against Julian’s instep, one hand cradling the back of his foot, the other on his calf beneath the pant leg.

“Please,” Julian begged. He was crying now, shaking harder than ever. “Please.” Rip licked his instep languidly, began nibbling on the tips of his toes. “Please, Rip.”

Julian slid off his other shoe, managed to pull off his sock. He put his bare foot on Rip’s lap, against his crotch, finding the bulge of his hard on. Tears and snot running down his face Julian began kneading and caressing in rhythm as Rip sucked the toes of his other foot.

Gasping, Rip sucked harder, thrusting as much as he could of Julian’s foot into his mouth, grinding his hips against the other foot, finally jerking in orgasm, his teeth leaving blue half moons on Julian’s foot.

When it was over, Julian pulled away, curled up on the floor in a fetal position.

“Don’t be upset,” Rip said, stroking his ankle. “I’ll give you your shot now. Here, you’ve got a vein right here. I won’t even need to tie you off. It’ll just be a pinch….” He slid the needle in, pushed down the plunger, and loosed the drugs into Julian’s bloodstream.

When the heroin hit him Julian sat up, threw both arms around Rip’s neck holding on for dear life, any sense of violation wiped away by narcotic ecstasy.

Rip stroked his cheek.

“You were great, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m going to hate sharing you.”

He would too, but Julian owed him $40,000. That was a lot of money and while sugar was sweet, business was business. Julian had only taken the first step towards paying his debt.

K is For King: A Song of Ice and Fire Fic

bitterfic — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 18:24:49 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: K is for King
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Stannis/Davos
Summary: Generally, debauchery was something Stannis left to his brothers.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 231
Rating: PG-13
Contains: Implied sex, angst.
Author’s Note: Written for sakru909 for the A to Z Meme.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

K is for King

While his Onion Knight slept, seemingly without a care, Stannis paced the bedchamber like a caged animal trying and failing to make sense of what he had just done.

Debauchery had always been something left to his brothers. Robert had his endless infidelities, Renly had his boys. Stannis had regarded their proclivities with an equal disgust, all the while remaining faithful to the wife he loved but little. She was the only one to share his bed. No whores, no concubines, and certainly no men.

At least until that night when in one fell swoop Stannis had indulged in both his brothers’ vices.

Apparently proclivities ran in the Baratheon family.

Not that Davos Seaworth was a whore, or even a pretty boy. He was an uneducated, rough-hewn man of middle age who possessed neither charm nor beauty. This made it all the more baffling that Stannis had taken him to his bed.

It had been no declaration of love that moved Stannis to such a rash and uncharacteristic action, no seduction either. It was simply hearing Davos say the words, “I will have no King but you.” At that, Stannis had taken Davos’ mutilated left hand in his own and pressed it to his lips. After that, a lifetime of loneliness, anger and suppressed desire had carried him away and Stannis Baratheon, always so morally steadfast, had waivered in the extreme.

S is for Shaving: Chronicles of Narnia Fic

bitterfic — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 13:56:40 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: S is for Shaving
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Caspian/Edmund (past Edmund/White Witch)
Summary: Edmund’s first shave.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 453
Rating: R
Contains: Chan, sexual content, sharp implements in sensitive places.
Author’s Note: Written for lilian_cho for the A to Z meme.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

S is for Shaving

“Are you ready?” Prince Caspian asked as Edmund emerged, naked and dripping from the icy cold spring pool. In his hand Caspian held a razor, simple and straight. As mundane or dangerous as its user chose.

Water shining on his thin body, Edmund took a seat beside the Prince on the grassy bank.

“I’m sorry to ask,” Edmund said. “I was a grown man once, a King. I shaved myself every day for years and years but somehow I’ve forgotten.”

“So you’ll learn again,” Caspian said. He worked a coarse piece of soap into a lather and dabbed the foam on Edmund’s face. “I’m surprised you chose me for this task rather than your brother.”

“I asked Peter,” Edmund admitted. “He said I wasn’t ready yet. He thinks I’m still a little boy.”

“Ah, but we know better,” Caspian said. Gently he scraped the foam and the soft, pale brown hairs from Edmund’s cheeks and chin, from around his lips. “Tilt your head back,” he commanded and Edmund bared his throat to the blade. His whole body stiff with nerves, he felt as though he was placing his life in Caspian’s hands.

The Prince did not so much as nick his tender flesh and this earned Edmund’s trust.

“Please, don’t stop yet,” he said when Caspian had finished. “Won’t you please do the rest?”

“The rest?” Caspian asked, baffled.

“Everything else,” Edmund pleaded. “My chest, my legs…” his hand fell to his naked groin. “Here too.”

“As you wish,” Caspian said simply. Edmund was surprised; he’d expected a refusal or a demand for an explanation. Instead Caspian lathered his narrow chest and painstakingly cut away the scant down growing there. He then moved on to Edmund’s legs, taking each in his hands, stretching it out, rubbing it with lather before applying the razor. At last he reached Edmund’s pubis and lathered the triangle of light hair there. Only then did he ask, “Why do you want this done?”

“Because of her,” Edmund blurted out. He’d been dreading but waiting for the questions. “Because of the White Witch. I want to be as I was when I met her. As I was when she had me.”

He whimpered as Caspian lifted his penis and began to shave the hair that grew at its base. Edmund wasn’t sure if it was Caspian’s touch or the memory of the Witch that made him suddenly grow hard. The razor was cold and sharp but Caspian’s fingers were warm. Edmund wasn’t sure which it was that made him stiffen, tremor, and finally come.

Caspian said nothing. He only finished the shave and then, drying his hands on the grass, stroked the newly hairless flesh of Edmund’s cheek.

D is for Disheveled: Eastern Promises Fic

bitterfic — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 21:30:18 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: D is for Disheveled
Fandom: Eastern Promises
Pairing: Nikolai/Kirill
Summary: Kirill doesn’t like being left out.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 537
Rating: R
Contains: Sex, violence, language.
Author’s Note: Written for eve_n_furter for the A to Z Meme.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

D is for Disheveled

Nikolai combed his hair back carefully before the bedroom mirror, meticulous in preparation for his meeting with Semyon’s Georgian connection. In his head he reviewed the list of information he hoped to obtain. He was less than pleased when Kirill appeared at the door.

“Where are you going?” Kirill demanded.

“I have a meeting with the Georgians.” Nikolai answered curtly.

“What meeting? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“I should be there,” Kirill said. He reminded Nikolai of a child, angry at being left out of adults’ affairs.

“No.” Nikolai said flatly.

“What do you mean, no? This is family business. My family’s business.”

“We are brothers, right? I will take care of it.”

Kirill scowled.

“I’m coming with you,” he insisted. Nikolai shook his head.

“The Georgians specifically asked me not to bring you,” he said.

“Motherfuckers! How dare they?”

“They say you don’t act like a professional,” Nikolai said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there. I have your back.”

“And I have your front,” Kirill snarled.

As Nikolai reached for his suit jacket, Kirill sprang into action and punched him in the stomach. While Nikolai was off balance, Kirill shoved him across the room, down onto the bed.

“Don’t start with me,” Nikolai warned. “You know I can beat the shit out of you.”

Kirill ignored the warning and threw himself on Nikolai. Their mouths smashed together in a violent kiss as Kirill thrust his hand down Nikolai’s pants.

They’d been involved (entangled?) since New Years with Nikolai carefully in charge, doling out intimacies to gain power, strengthen this control over Kirill. This was different. Kirill wasn’t begging this time, wasn’t drunk and kissing Nikolai’s shoe.

Kirill jerked Nikolai off, his fingers dancing, teasing Nikolai’s balls, his asshole, making his cock almost unbearably hard as he tongue-fucked his mouth.

“Stop it,” Nikolai gasped, pulling away. “I have to go. The Georgians…”

“Fuck the Georgians,” Kirill snapped, unzipping Nikolai’s pants and yanking them down. He fell on Nikolai’s cock, taking it in his mouth, sucking it like a vampire at a vein.

“Jesus Christ,” Nikolai moaned. He grabbed Kirill’s head but instead of pushing him away held him there. Kirill shook him off.

“You want it, say please.” Kirill ordered.

“Please, please. For God sakes don’t stop.”

“Say I’m the boss.” His lips barely touched Nikolai’s cock, tantalizing. He thrust his hips, trying to reach Kirill’s mouth. Every heartbeat throbbed in his cock.

“You’re the boss,” Nikolai pleaded. “Suck me, boss. Please.”

Kirill obliged, falling into a steady but ever-escalating rhythm while Nikolai writhed under his ministrations, finally exploding.

Kirill reared up, eyes still flashing dangerously. He spit Nikolai’s own semen into his face.

“Go to your meeting now,” Kirill said with a cruel laugh. “Go to your Georgians. See how professional they think you are.” Then he stalked out the door.

Unsteadily Nikolai got to his feet and went back to the mirror.

The slick crime boss of a few minutes before was disheveled beyond recognition. His lips were bruised, his cheeks flushed, his hair wet and hanging in his face, his shirt ripped open.

He was supposed to be controlling Kirill but he hadn’t succeeded in controlling himself.

Monthly Round-Up May and June 2010

bitterfic — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 17:53:47 GMT

I'm still accepting prompts for the A to Z Drabble Meme.
Also you can get commentary on any of my stories here.

Ficage May-June 2010

Alice in Wonderland*
The White Lady, R, Alice/The White Queen, Six years after liberating Underland Alice has made a fortune trading opium in China. When a reformer questions the morality of her actions Alice must confront what she has become.
Against Her Vows, NC-17, Alice/The White Queen, According to the White Queen’s vows she might only give pleasure, not receive it.
A Woman of Such Stature, PG-13, Ilosovic Stayne (The Knave of Hearts)/Alice (Um), drabble.
As Gracious As She Was Graceful, PG, Alice/The White Queen, drabble.

Blades of Glory*
Hidden Depths, PG, Jimmy/Chazz, drabble.
I'll Take Him, NC-17 (rape, chan), Jimmy MacElroy/Darren MacElroy, When Darren MacElroy adopted little Jimmy he felt nothing for the child but ambition.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Strength, R, Buffy/Tara, drabble.
Sunrise Over Rio, R, Willow/Kennedy, drabble.

Carnivale
Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, R, Libby/Sofie, Sofie’s Tarot cards turn up a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Chicago*
Supply and Demand, PG, Velma/Mama, drabble.
Derby Day, R, Velma/Mama/Roxie, drabble.

The Craft
The Power of Okay, PG-13, Sarah/Nancy, Drabble.

Crossover
Tiny Cakes, R, A Series of Unfortunate Events/Harry Potter, Violet/Luna, drabble.
Revenge Poetry, PG-13, Kick Ass/Kill Bill, Hit-Girl/Nikki. Hit-Girl finds herself drawn to a young girl seeking revenge for her mother’s murder.
What She Wants, R, Criminal Minds/NCIS, Garcia/Abby, drabble.

Criminal Minds
No Promises, R, Gideon/Reid, Drabble.

Dark City*
All the Sad Songs, R, Emma/May, Emma was different from the rest of May’s clientele.

Dark Knight*
Maniacal Glee, PG-13, Batman/Joker, Drabble.

The Deer Hunter
She Lost Them Both, PG, Linda/Nick, Linda/Michael, Drabble.

Eastern Promises
My Captain, R, Nikolai/Kirill (references to Kirill/Soyka) Summary: After he left the army, Kirill never thought he’d see Nikolai Luzhin again. Suddenly there he was in London, asking for work.

Fruits Basket
More, PG-13, Tohru/Yuki/Kyo, drabble.

Harry Potter
Whatever Comes, R, Ginny/Luna, Luna and Ginny face an uncertain sixth year at Hogwarts.
Amazing Grace, G, Ginny/Luna, drabble.
Sister Insomnia, PG, Andromeda/Bellatrix/Narcissa, drabble.
Little Purple Flower, PG-13, Pansy/Ginny, Drabble.

Heroes
The Third, PG, Peter/Nathan/Sylar, drabble.

His Dark Materials
White Mink, R (incest, rape, chan), Marisa Coulter/Lord Asriel, Lord Asriel/OMC, “You’ve never told me about your first time,” Marisa said.

Historical
A Son and Heir, PG, Henry VIII/Anne Boleyn, Drabble.

The Hunger Games*
Say the Word, NC-17, Johanna/Peeta, Before they face each other in the arena Johanna has a few things to teach Peeta.
My Little Bird, G, Katniss/Rue. drabble.
Waiting For Her, PG, Peeta/Katniss, drabble.

Inglourious Basterds
First Love, PG, Shosanna Dreyfus/Bridget von Hammersmark, drabble.

Kick Ass*
5 Consecutive Life Sentences Plus 99 years, PG, Hit Girl/Frank D’Amico, Drabble.

Kill Bill
To Love is to Bury, PG-13 (incest), Bill/Budd, drabble.

The Lovely Bones*
In The In-Between, PG, Susie/Holly, drabble.

Magic Knight Rayearth*
Belonging, PG, Hikaru/Umi/Fuu, drabble.

The Other Boleyn Girl
Anne's and Mine, R (incest), Anne/Mary, drabble.

OZ*
Malignancy, R, Ryan O’Reily/Dr. Nathan, drabble.
Laugh it Off, R, Ryan O’Reily/Simon Adebisi/Scott Ross, drabble.

Prison Break
A Gesture of Good Faith, R, Whistler/Mahone, Whistler had the way out but he required a gesture of good faith.
The Wounded Lion, R, T-Bag/Mahone, Set at the beginning of season 3. As Mahone goes through drug withdrawal he finds an unlikely (and unwelcome) source of comfort.

Promethea
Simultaneous, R, Stacia/Grace/Lucille. Stacia was simultaneously involved with two women on two different levels of reality.

Reservoir Dogs
Cupcake, R, Blonde (Vic Vega)/Orange (Freddy Newandyke), “You remind me of guys I used to see around when I was in prison, ” Blonde said. Freddy’s heart stopped.

Runaways
Larger Than Average, PG-13, Gert/Chase, drabble.

Strangers In Paradise
Measuring Up, PG-13, Casey/Freddie, Francine/Freddie, Drabble.
With This Flower, PG, Katchoo/Darcy Parker, Drabble.

Strawberry Shortcake*
Souffle, R, Strawberry Shortcake/Plum Puddin', When her soufflé falls, Strawberry Shortcake is very cross.
An Impossible Thing, R, Plum Pudding/Apricot, How a little boy became a woman.

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
She Turns, PG, Sarah/Cameron, drabble.

True Blood
Bored Games, PG-13, Sookie/Sophie-Anne, A game of Candy Land with the Queen of Louisiana challenges some of Sookie’s ideas about herself.

Uglies
You Go First, PG-13, Tally/Shay, Tally and Shay. From ugly to pretty to special and beyond.

X-Men
Girls and Ghosts, PG-13, Illyana Rasputin/Kitty Pryde, The first night they roomed together, Illyana told Kitty how she had died.
A Heart To Be Broken, PG, Illyana Rasputin/Kitty Pryde, Drabble.
Combustion, PG, Pyro/Magneto, Drabble.

*New Fandom

White Mink: His Dark Materials Fic

bitterfic — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 14:25:34 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: White Mink
Fandom: His Dark Materials
Pairing: Marisa Coulter/Lord Asriel, Lord Asriel/OMC
Summary: “You’ve never told me about your first time,” Marisa said.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1293
Rating: R
Contains: Incest, rape, sexual relations between a child and an adult.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

White Mink

At midday Lord Asriel came to the Coulters’ house. Young Mrs. Coulter, who had dismissed the servants for the afternoon, let him in. She led him upstairs and they made love in Mr. Coulter’s bed.

After sex, they lay together among the white sheets, both naked. He had spent two months in the arctic. His time there had left him hard and lean, pale from long nights and sunless days. Beside Asriel, Marisa seemed round and soft. She was four months pregnant, just beginning to show though her husband had not yet noticed. Her skin glowed pink and gold. She radiated warmth, heat and passion. That was what drew him to her.

She was only twenty, over a decade younger than her lover. Her youthfulness was emphasized by her clean-shaven body. Her husband liked her childlike, hairless. Asriel would have preferred the natural womanliness of her golden bush but when you lay with another man’s wife you had to make concessions to his taste.

At the foot of the bed their dæmons sat together, his snow leopard Stelmaria languid and relaxed, her golden monkey alert and curious.

“You’ve never told me about your first time,” Marisa said walking her fingers down his firm, pale chest. “I want to know.”

“Its better you don’t,” he said dismissively. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Her lips followed her fingers, gliding seductively down his torso to his groin. For a moment her mouth toyed with his flaccid penis then she gave him a light nip with her teeth. Warily, Stelmaria eyed the monkey.

“Behave,” Asriel warned her. Marisa sat up, crossed her arms.

“Why shouldn’t I know?” She asked. “I’ve told you about all the lovers I’ve had. Why shouldn’t I know about yours?”

“Why should you?”

“Because I want to know and because I won’t be treated like a silly little girl. I won’t understand? Try me; I know the ways of the world.”

“If you insist,” he said with an exasperated sigh. She snuggled against him, wrapping his arm around her. “I’ll tell you, but please try and listen and don’t interrupt me.”

“Of course not.” She purred, he rolled his eyes and began.

“When I was twelve years old I was home from school on holiday. No, school was still in session. I was called home from school for a very important event, a great event. My mother’s brother, my Uncle Octavia was visiting us. I’d never met my Uncle Octavia before, he’d been away my whole life. He was an explorer and an inventor, a very famous man in those days. You’re probably too young to have heard of him but he was a most eminent gentleman.

“I remember like yesterday the first time I laid eyes upon him, when he entered into the vestibule of my father’s house. He was a magnificent example of a man, in his prime at forty-six years of age, tall, slender yet strong. He had flyaway hair of a dark blond touched with gray and a striking face, too long to be considered traditionally handsome, but he made me think of a lion or a horse. And his eyes, his eyes were most extraordinary. Large and heavy-lidded, a startling shade of blue that seemed to me then and now to capture the arctic sky.

“His dæmon was a large, white mink, a creature so luxurious that I reached out to pet her…”

“You didn’t!” Marisa cried. “Wicked boy!”

“No interruptions,” Asriel said harshly. “I reached out instinctively, but I never touched her. She bared her teeth at me, needle sharp fangs, and I realized what I had almost done. I was quite ashamed, but my Uncle didn’t seem to hold it against me. In fact his dæmon seemed to take a liking to Stelmaria, who was still changing shape then. During dinner my Uncle was occupied with my parents but his dæmon and mine played together beneath the table. I was surprised, and deeply flattered by all the attention.

“When dinner was over, my father asked me to show my Uncle to the study where brandy was being served. Stelmaria became a sparrow and flew down the hallway, the white mink trotting after her. My Uncle and I followed close by. Before we entered the study, my Uncle caught me by the arm.

“‘Come to my room at midnight,’ he told me. He didn’t say why. I didn’t expect him to explain himself to me. He was a great man, I was a child. I did as I was told. When the clock struck twelve I knocked on his door.

“He invited me in, asked me to sit down. He was wearing a blue robe that made his eyes seem to glow. I was mesmerized by him. I listened carefully to every word he said.

“He told me I was special, that he’d realized it when I almost dared to touch his dæmon. He said I was like him, that I wasn’t bound by the rules of petty people, that I was brave, daring, special. It took my breath away to hear him say these things. To be recognized that way. He said to me all the things I’d secretly believed to be true of myself.

“Then he offered to be my benefactor. He said that he would introduce me to important and well placed people, that when the time came he would sponsor me for Jordan College. I accepted his offer, of course I did. Only a fool would have turned down such an offer.

“He put his arm around me; his hand was on the back of my neck. He asked me to thank him and I asked him how. He said he would show me, then he took me.”

Marisa’s eyes opened wide. She sat straight up.

“He fucked you?” She asked, shocked. “When you were only twelve years old? That’s criminal.”

“I didn’t expect you to understand,” Asriel said condescendingly. “I didn’t understand myself, at the time. I was very frightened, when I realized what he was going to do. I even tried to run away but he grabbed Stelmaria. It was the first time another person had touched my dæmon, I thought I was going to die. It felt like the heart of me was being ripped out. After that nothing he did could have been worse so I let him have his way. It was hard, that first time. It was painful and I took no pleasure in it. It would get better. We were very close in the years that followed, my Uncle and I.”

“What became of him?” Marisa asked.

“He died when I was twenty-four. He took his own life. He learned he was suffering from cancer and chose to end things rather than become a shell of himself.”

“So he was a coward as well as a rapist,” Marisa said with absolute conviction.

Asriel lifted his hand to strike her but thought the better of it, instead he laughed at her.

“I knew you were incapable of understanding,” he said icily.

“I should have hated him; I should have wanted him to die.”

“My Uncle Octavia knew me for what I was; he brought me into the world of men. He was a shining example to me in all things; he made me who I am today.”

“What about our child?” She asked. “When our child is twelve years old will you be happy to have someone become their benefactor, to recognize their value as Octavia recognized yours?”

He remembered for a moment the feel of his Uncle’s hand on the back of his neck, that same hand on his dæmon.

“I can only hope that our child takes after their mother,” he said despite himself.

Cupcake: Reservoir Dogs Fic

bitterfic — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 11:11:14 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Cupcake
Fandom: Reservoir Dogs
Pairing: Blonde (Vic Vega)/Orange (Freddy Newandyke)
Summary: “You remind me of guys I used to see around when I was in prison, ” Blonde said. Freddy’s heart stopped.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1319
Rating: R
Contains: Language. Sexual content. D/s.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Cupcake

A couple days before the heist Freddy went by himself to case the warehouse.

The lock wasn’t a dead bolt; he had an easy enough time getting in. Even though it was midday the place was creepy, twilight dark, cold and clammy. Still, being there was a necessary evil. Knowing the layout of the place might save his life when the robbery went down.

He was examining the emergency exits for a possible quick way out when the side door, which he had left unlocked, swung open. For a second bright sun lit up the whole dingy place. There was no ducking out of the way; he knew he had been seen by whoever it was so he stood his ground, waited to see what would happen.

A tall, shadowy figure ambled towards him. When the man got close Freddy saw it was one of Cabot’s men. Blonde, the cocky, toothpick-chewing one who thought he was Elvis. At least Blonde wasn’t one of the talkers.

“Hey,” Freddy said nervously. “You here doing your homework too?” Maybe, hopefully, Blonde had come to look over the meeting point, prep for the job. Hopefully he was just being a conscientious criminal. “So what are you doing here?”

Freddy expected this to be Blonde’s cue to shoot back, “what are you doing here?”

Instead he said, “I followed you here.”

“Huh? What do you mean you followed me here?” Freddy asked, genuinely alarmed. If Blonde was following him Cabot must have put him up to it. Was his cover blown?

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” Blonde said. He moved in, standing so close Freddy was looking at his chest. “I get a vibe from you. You remind me of guys I used to see around when I was in prison.”

Freddy’s heart stopped.

“What kind of guys?” He asked. His voice sounded high and shrill and he was grinning like an idiot. Did Blonde have him figured out? Had he fucked everything up?

“Prags,” Blonde said. He took the toothpick out of his mouth, tossed it on the ground. Freddy breathed again for a second, then he started to freak out in a whole different way. “Cute little bitches like yourself looking to hook up with a big man. I seen the way you look at White. You think he’s a big man and you’re looking to be his boy. I guess you go for the silver haired daddy type. Silver pit bull, that’s what White is. Is it real romantic, cupcake? Does daddy treat you right? Or are you up for a little man handling?”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Freddy snapped. “There’s nothing like that between White and I.”

“If that’s so, it’s not for lack of trying on your part.” He put his hand under Freddy’s chin, turned his face up, caressing his cheek with a thumb. “You’ll never make pretty, cupcake, not with that honker. Still, you’ve got nice eyes…”

“Get your fucking hands off me.”

“I gotta say, I thought I was through with guys when I made parole. The first thing I did when I was outside was buy me a nice piece of pussy. It was good, real good, but I still find myself wanting the other. Funny, ain’t it?”

“Real funny. Look, you and Nice Guy Eddie seemed like good friends. Why don’t you go molest him?”

Blonde smacked him across the face. Not as hard as he could have, not hard enough to send Freddy reeling, but hard.

“Ouch, motherfucker,” Freddy lifted a fist to hit back but Blonde was fast for such a big guy. In a second he had Freddy by the wrists.

“Eddie and I known each other since we were ten. I’d go down on my own brother before I’d ruin what I have with Eddie. Got that, cupcake? Now I think we ought to find something else for that mouth of yours to do.”

“No way. Let go of me or I’m gonna have to tell Cabot what a psycho you are.”

“Bullshit. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, especially your old man. This is gonna be our sweet secret.” Blonde released his hands. For a minute they stood there, glaring at each other, then Blonde said “get on your knees.”

Freddy considered running for it but instead he dropped to his knees.

“I’m not touching you,” he said. Blonde just laughed, which pissed Freddy off. What pissed Freddy off even more was how excited this was making him. So excited he wasn’t sure if he wanted to jerk off or throw up.

Blonde unzipped his fly, took his dick out. He was big, huge from Freddy’s eye-level perspective. Freddy found himself practically trembling with nervous energy and anticipation. Blonde traced his lips with the tip of his dick. It was hot, leaking pre-cum, yet strangely soft, vulnerable.

“Open up, cupcake,” Blonde cooed. Freddy did as he was told, he opened his mouth, took in the engorged penis. Blonde thrust forward, fucking his face, forcing his dick down Freddy’s throat. It made him gag but it made him hot too. He struggled to keep up with Blonde’s thrusts, his hand creeping down his pants to touch his own stiffening cock.

“I knew you’d love it, you cunt-faced cocksucker.” Blonde sneered. He pulled back, reached down to caress Freddy’s face. “Enough sucking. I’m not wasting myself on your mouth. I’m gonna fuck you up the ass now, prag, and you’re going to love that.”

“The fuck you are…” Freddy began. Blonde’s wet, erect cock suddenly slapped him across the face. For a moment, he was blinded and in that moment, Blonde was on top of him, pushing him down.

There had been a filthy mattress lying in the corner of the warehouse and they ended up wrestling on top of it. Freddy struggled hard, but Blonde was bigger, stronger and finally managed to pin him down, hands locked around his wrists.

“You’re not fucking me,” Freddy yelled. “I only sucked your dick because you’re fucking crazy. No way are you fucking me.”

“No need to get riled up, cupcake,” Blonde said calmly. He ground his pelvis against Freddy’s and against his better judgment, Freddy found himself grinding back, arching against Blonde, wiggling not to get away but to maximize contact. The truth was Blonde was right about him, he wanted it, wanted to be dominated like this.

Blonde let his hands go, turned him over onto his stomach. Obligingly, Freddy got up onto his hands and knees. In one swift motion, Blonde had his pants and underwear down around his knees and was rubbing his dick against Freddy’s bare ass. With one hand he reached around, started jerking Freddy off.

“Has your old man done you like this yet?” Blonde inquired.

“No,” Freddy admitted.

“You’re lucky I ain’t got the old guy’s hang-ups and scruples.”

“Shut up and put it in me.”

He must have brought lube with him. Freddy felt his fingers slide in easy.

“Relax, tight ass,” Blonde said. “If I wanted to hurt you I’d already be in.” His fingers moved in and out until Freddy stopped clenching. “Here comes,” Blonde whispered and pushed the length of his huge dick inside.

Freddy was alarmed at how easy it went in, how natural it felt to be fucked by this cocky asshole he couldn’t stand. It should have hurt, he shouldn’t have wanted it. It shouldn’t feel so good, so hot. Blonde was fucking him and he was loving it, grunting and writhing and about to spill.

What he had felt for White, he’d thought that was something special, a once in a lifetime thing but here he was, about to come with another man up his ass.

Blonde had known what Freddy was. Maybe Blonde knew him better than he knew himself.

Cuz Freddy didn’t think he knew himself at all any more.

You Go First: Uglies Fic

bitterfic — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 20:32:02 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Fandom: Uglies
Title: You Go First
Pairing: Shay/Tally
Summary: Shay and Tally: from ugly to pretty to special and beyond.
Word Count: 1225
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Contains self-injury and violence.
Author’s Note: Written for yuri_challenge for the prompt “go first”.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

You Go First

We were in the park by the river, Tally and me.

Tally was perched unsteadily on her hoverboard, moving in slow circles. She was learning how to ride with amazing speed. All she needed was a little more time to get used to it.

A little more time to get used to everything, all the new ideas I’d been throwing at her since we’d hooked up.

If only we’d had a chance to meet sooner. Then I could have slowly introduced her to all these radical new ideas the way David introduced me. I wish she could have met David, or been able to know my friends, the ones who went ahead. If she had just had a couple of years to digest things like I did I knew Tally would have taken it all in, would have understood.

She was smart, smarter than me. Trickier. She had so much potential but she’d never been around people who questioned things. She still believed everything she’d learned in school about how to live and how to think. She’d been taught to hate herself as she was and she did. She wanted, more than anything else, to be pretty when she could have been so much more. All she needed was someone to show her the way. That’s what I was trying to do.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked her.

“You go first,” Tally answered, unsure of herself. “You know where we’re going.”

“Okay,” I said and glided ahead. Then turned, and beckoned for her to follow.

*****

In the Smoke I tried not to think about Tally but I couldn’t help it.

I thought about her having the operation and becoming pretty. How she’d look and act just like every other pretty instead of like her own extraordinary self. I missed her. I missed her squinty eyes and the way she ran her hands through her frizzy hair making it stick out all over the place. I imagined her made over with big, sparkling eyes and shiny straight hair. She wouldn’t be Tally anymore.

Then suddenly she was there, in the Smoke. Still Tally, still ugly, still herself.

“You’re here,” I said, after I’d showed her around. “You’re really here.”

She took my hand.

“I wanted to see you again,” she said.

“I wish you’d come with me.”

“You go first,” she said. “I follow.”

*****

“You go first,” Tally pleaded looking at me with her big, sparkling eyes. It was her first party in New Pretty Town and she was nervous. Lucky for her she had me, I knew the ropes. I took her by the hand and led her in. Everybody was there, drinking champagne out of tall glasses, dancing and laughing. Tally and I laughed too, not at anything in particular, just because we were young and pretty and laughing seemed right.

All the adventures we’d had and the pranks we’d pulled as uglies, living in the Smoke, all the trouble we’d gotten into, it was all just a memory now. A memory I couldn’t even really remember very well any more. Why had I done all those things? Why had I ever thought I wanted to be anything but pretty?

Tally and I danced together, spinning and swirling under the lights, finally together, finally both of us pretty. This was what we were meant to be.

“Zane’s watching you,” I said. Tally giggled. “You know what drives boys crazy?” I asked. She shook her head and I kissed her. Why not? I was a Crim. We were pretty but we were wild. Pretty wild.

Tally and I kissed right in the middle of the dance floor, people all around us cheering and whooping, Zane loudest of all.

The funny thing is none of them mattered.

*****

I cut myself.

There was a shock of pain, then a moment of ice cold clarity as I waited for the blood to well up flat and sticky were the skin was parted.

Bubbly.

This is what Tally means by bubbly.

When I cut, I feel like my old ugly self. I’m the Shay who ran away to live in the woods. The Shay who never wanted to be operated on and turned into someone else. The Shay I thought was gone but never mourned. She wasn’t gone at all, all this time she’s been lost in a pretty playground.

This is what Tally means when she says she wants to be bubbly.

This time Tally’s gone first but I have my knife, I will follow because pretty or not we belong together.

*****

“Go first,” Tally said. “Show me what a special can do.”

I glided ahead on my hoverboard, beckoned for her to follow me. I led her on a wild ride around the city, faster and harder than flying we could have done as uglies or pretties. She’d notice, like I had my first time out, that her body wasn’t at all tired, even after hours of heavy riding. She’d notice how well she could see in the dark, how sharp her hearing had become. That was what it was like to be a special.

“What else,” she wanted to know after we’d pulled to a stop. “What else can I do?”

“Let me show you,” I said. I took her hand in mine and I crushed it. Her bones crunched under my enhanced strength. She yelped, scrunching her face up in pain, then her eyes got wide and glowy. I knew the pain was already fading, that her crunchy bones were healing themselves good as new.

“Wow,” she said, shaking her hand. “More.”

“You asked for it.”

I smacked her across the face as hard as I could. Blood sprayed out of her nose. She laughed. I punched her in the stomach, in the chin, I hit her as hard as I could again and again.

“This is for David,” I screamed at her. “This is for the Smoke. This is for every time you followed my lead then ruined everything for me. I never wanted to be pretty. You made it so I had to be then you messed that up for me. “

Tally laughed again. A cut I’d opened above her eye was already healed even though the blood was still wet. She wasn’t even unsteady on her feet. She hit me back, laid into me as hard as I’d laid into her. It didn’t matter though; my body repaired the damage as fast as she inflicted it. We were both laughing, like pretties at a party. It was just like dancing, except with fists.

We rolled around on the ground in savage delight. We were equally matched in strength and cruelty but I had more experience with both and finally I managed to pin her.

I kissed her, and she kissed me back, our embrace every bit as violent as our fight.

Everything I’d screamed at her echoed around us. It was all true, all wrongs she’d done me, but none of it really mattered to me anymore. All I cared about was the brutal joy of the two of us being special together.

*****

“Goodbye,” she said and I knew we’d reached the end of you-go-first-and-I-will-follow.

We’d been pretty, we’d been special. Now we were at ourselves again, and it was time to say goodbye.

A to Z Drabble Meme

bitterfic — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 21:54:26 GMT

Borrowed from ubiquitousmixie .
The rules are simple: just comment with a show/movie, pairing/character/threesome, and word prompt for a letter of your choosing and I’ll write you a drabble/ficlet in return that will be posted in my writing journal. Het, slash, femslash and gen prompts are all okay.

A A is for Amsterdam, Pulp Fiction/Reservoir Dogs, Vincent Vega/Vic Vega for Fedink
B is for blood- Reservoir Dogs, Orange/White fir sakru909
C is for cannibalize - Fight Club, Tyler/narrator (or vice versa) for sickletongue
D is for disheveled - Eastern Promises, Kirill/Nikolai for eve_n_furter
E
F is for foster- Merlin, Merlin/Arthur for lilian_cho
G is for Greed- There Will Be Blood, Daniel Plainview/Eli Sunday for sakru909
H is for Heart - Alice in Wonderland, Red Queen/Alice for ubiquitousmixie
I
J is for Jinx- Promethea for ilthit
K is for King - A Song of Ice and Fire, Stannis/Davos for sakru909
L is for Lavender - True Blood, Pam/Sookie for ubiquitousmixie
M is for Magic, Merlin, Morgana/Morgause for veleda_k
N is for Now - Heroes, Peter/Nathan for gribouille
O
P is for Possession - Firefly, Zoe/Wash for katherineokelly
Q
R is for Rose- Revolutionary Girl Utena, Utena/Anthy for sakru909
S is for Shaving- Narnia, Caspian/Edmund for lilian_cho
T is for Torment - Dr. Who, Theta/Koschei (or Ten/Simm!Master) for mrjdt
U
V is for Valium - Criminal Minds, Garcia and Reid for lawless523
W is for Wild- Grindhouse (Planet Terror), Dr. Dakota Block/Cherry Darling for sakru909
X is for X Chromosome- any, for ilthit
Y
Z is for Zipper- Watchmen, Laurie for ilthit

For fandoms I write check my tags under fandom or see my user info . Doing a crossover of two of my fandoms is fine. Also I'm also open to other fandoms (Dexter, Sin City, Fables, the Sherlock Homes movie and a lot of others), just ask me.

What She Wants: Crossover NCIS/Criminal Minds drabble

bitterfic — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 16:29:15 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: What She Wants
Fandom: Crossover Criminal Minds/NCIS
Pairing: Garcia/Abby
Word Count: 164
Rating: R
Contains: BDSM, toys.
Author’s Note: Written for 10,000 Lilies: A Femslash Porn Battle for the prompt “Criminal Minds/NCIS, Garcia/Abby, Not a victim.”
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

What She Wants

Sometimes Garcia got a little scared by the things Abby wanted done to her.

Sweet little Abby with her pigtails and her seventeen-year old schoolgirl looks like to be tied down. She liked black leather bondage cuffs that clipped to the chains on her headboard. She liked toys. Not action figures and cereal box prizes like Garcia decorated her desk with but vibrators, butt-plugs, and twisting, curvy dildos. She liked Garcia to fuck her with these things while she moaned and screamed.

Garcia had seen a lot, crime scenes, women imprisoned, raped, murdered. Sometimes Abby’s preferences cut a little too close for comfort. Still, she knew that Abby wasn’t a victim and she, Garcia, wasn’t an un-sub. For all her youthful looks Abby was a grown woman. She knew what she wanted; she knew what turned her on. She had her fantasies and maybe they weren’t always Garcia’s fantasies but making Abby hot and wet, having Abby beg for more was what Garcia wanted.

Say The Word: Hunger Games Fic

bitterfic — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 10:47:10 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Say the Word
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing: Johanna/Peeta
Summary: Before they face each other in the arena Johanna has a few things to teach Peeta.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1698
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Language. Explicit sexual content including D/s and pegging.
Author’s Note: Set during Catching Fire the night before the Games.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Say the Word

After the interviews, an excited crowd gathered around Peeta in the green room offering advice and encouragement for the Games or simply telling him how deeply they were moved by his disclosure of his secret marriage with Katniss. Several of the women were crying over him. Johanna shouldered her way through the mob, placed a hand on either of his shoulders.

“Meet me on the roof at midnight,” she said putting her face close to Peeta’s. “Come alone.” Then she was gone, leaving him to the sobbing women and the bumbling well-wishers.

As soon as they were out of the studio, Peeta reported what had happened to Haymitch.

“You should meet her,” the older man said, pouring himself a glass of the strong, sweet liquor so readily available in the Capitol. “Any kind of alliance you can make will help you. Don’t leave it to Katniss. She isn’t the type to make new friends.”

“If you think it could help us, I’ll go,” Peeta said.

“It can’t hurt,” Haymitch assured him then turned his back on Peeta, all attention absorbed by his drink.

It wasn’t quite midnight but Peeta made his way to the roof. In the garden that grew there he sat alone, trying to plan for what might happen in the arena the next day while simultaneously trying not to think of it.

He was wondering what would be worse, dying himself or watching Katniss die, when Johanna slunk through the door.

“Well, you showed,” she said. “I half expected you wouldn’t.”

She was barefoot, carrying a backpack with her and wearing a pink tunic of a nightgown that came mid-way down her thighs. Her fine brown hair was pulled back loosely by a clip on either side. Peeta thought she looked very young and very pretty, innocent even. Still he knew better than to take Johanna Mason at face value. She obviously wanted something from him, most likely his allegiance. The question was could he trust her? Katniss certainly didn’t.

“What do you want?” Peeta asked. He might as well cut to the chase. It was late, he was tired and he was probably going to die soon. He saw no reason to be charming.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what you want,” Johanna said with a smirk.

“And what do I want?”

“Me.”

She lifted the nightgown off over her head. Underneath it she was wearing nothing but a pair of red boys briefs.

Peeta gasped for breath. He remembered how she had stripped down in the elevator and then at the training session. He had to admit the sight of her naked body had filled him with desire but he hadn’t imagined anything could come of it. He had assumed Johanna was taking her clothes off for Katniss’ benefit, a ploy to throw her off guard. Apparently he had been mistaken.

“Johanna,” he stammered, “I’m with Katniss. You must know that after the interview…”

“Yes, yes,” Johanna said mockingly. “I know. You were married in your hearts and she’s pregnant with your child.” She stepped forward until the tips of her breasts were grazing Peeta’s chest. “It’s all very touching and I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You don’t? I mean…. It’s true…”

“You’re an excellent liar Peeta but you’re what, sixteen or seventeen years old? You’re just a boy, a little boy. You’re not in control of yourself. I saw the way you looked at me when I took off my clothes in that elevator. You looked at me like I was a new world you dreamed of visiting one day. Whatever there might be between you and Miss Everdeen, you’re not fucking her. You’re not fucking anyone.”

She stood on her tiptoes, whispered in his ear.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you Peeta?”

“No.” He backed away from her emphatically, backing himself against a wall. “Katniss and I are having a baby.”

“You can’t fool me with your lies, Peeta.” She laughed, pressing herself against him. “Like I said, you’re not in control.” She slid a hand down his chest, his stomach, to the bulge of his crotch. She cupped his hardening cock in her hand. “I’m making you an offer, Peeta, out of the kindness of my heart as well as my sense of self-preservation. In exchange for your goodwill in the arena, I’ll fuck you blind. I love a sweet virgin ass and I can promise you the ride of your life. If you want it, stay. If you don’t, get out of my sight.”

She ground her pelvis against his, grabbing his ass with both hands, and thrust her tongue in his mouth. They kissed, hard and crude. She dominated, taking his mouth with hers, hands fondling his ass, hips pounding against him.

“I take it that was a yes,” she said when they finally separated.

“Yes,” Peeta gasped.

“You’re going to do as I say.”

“I will.”

“If it gets to be too much for you just say the word.” She leaned close, lips to his ear. “The word is mockingjay.”

Peeta understood. This wasn’t going to be his fantasy of wedding bed love-making with Katniss. This was going to be desperate, loveless, eleventh-hour banging with a bitter and manipulative near stranger and it was going to be on her terms and hers alone.

Peeta understood this. He even wanted it.

He let her rip open his shirt, unzip his pants. He gave himself over to her almost violent caresses. It was only when she jerked his hands behind his back and snapped the cuffs on him that he got nervous.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I don’t want you touching yourself, or me, until I say you can.”

“Take them off, Johanna. This isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t meant to be.” Her brown eyes were flashing fire. She pushed him down to his knees, grabbed him by the sides of his head and rubbed his face between her thighs. She was hot and smelled of sex. He’d never smelled it before but it seemed right.

She pushed him away and reached into her backpack. The same backpack she’d produced the handcuffs from. This time she pulled out what looked like a wooden phallus attached to a harness of leather straps.

“What is that?” He asked. Johanna ignored him and stepping into the straps she situated the phallus low on her pelvis, tightening the straps with a sure hand. The phallus bobbed between her legs like Peeta’s own hard-on. She caressed it, drawing close so the thing was in his face.

“Look at the workmanship,” she purred. “The finest cherry wood, oiled and polished till it’s like silk, amazing craftsmanship. Do they have anything like this in District 12?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. What are you going to do with it?”

“For starters, you’re going to lick it.” He did as she said and as he licked, her bare foot stroked his cock. “That’s right baker boy,” she hissed. “Feel how smooth that is. Lick it, yes. Suck it. That’s right.” Her big toe teased the head of his penis until he was straining to reach her even as he continued to suck on the phallus. “You’re hot, baker boy. Are you almost done? Well not till I say so, got it?” She drew her foot away, thrust into his mouth one final time. Grabbing him by the arm she dragged him to his feet then shoved him so he was bent over one of the garden planters. “Now, I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

“I don’t think I want to do this, Johanna.” Peeta said, suddenly panicky. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said yanking his underwear down around his feet. “Just say the word baker boy and walk away.”

“I don’t want this.”

“I’ll bet you don’t want a lot of things.” She slammed a glob of cold, slick gel between the cheeks of his ass. “I’ll bet you don’t want to go into that arena tomorrow and be killed. I’ll bet you don’t want your imaginary baby to grow up without a mommy or a daddy. I’ll bet you’d like to be in District 12 curled up in front of the coal with your precious Katniss, putting real buns in her oven. Well I hate to tell you this, Peeta , but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. Life is all about taking it up the ass.”

She pressed the head of her wooden phallus against his sphincter and pushed. He thought it would hurt, he thought it would tear him apart but he was so slick it slipped right in. There was no pain, only a feeling of fullness. Holding his hips, she started to pound, in and out. Something inside him seemed to send shivers down his cock. He was moaning, arching towards her, his body stiffening. He was on the point of climax when she stopped.

“Not yet,” she ordered. “You’re going to save some of that for me.” Deftly she loosed the straps of her harness, let the whole contraption fall to the floor and dropped her red briefs after it. Grabbing him by the cock—the touch of her hand pushing him dangerously close to orgasm—she dragged him down to the rooftop and straddled him, lowering herself onto his erection.

She was wet and ready, as slick as he had been without gel. She raised and lowered herself on him, moving fast enough to drive him crazy but slow enough that he couldn’t get release.

“Please,” he groaned. “Please, Katniss.” She slapped him across the face for that but “Katniss” wasn’t “mockingjay” so she showed him no mercy until finally she was ready to come herself, only then did she escalate her movements, bucking wildly, jerking him to climax.

Standing up she retrieved her nightgown, wiped herself with it. Only then did she unlock the cuffs.

“There,” she said. “You won’t have to die a virgin, Peeta Mellark.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Remember me fondly in the arena,” she said, and still naked disappeared through the doorway.

Girls and Ghosts: X-Men (Marvel Comics) Fic

bitterfic — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 19:23:52 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Girls and Ghosts
Fandom: X-Men (Marvel Comics)
Pairing: Illyana Rasputin/Kitty Pryde
Summary: The first night they roomed together, Illyana told Kitty how she had died.
Word Count: 1044
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of child sexual abuse.
Author’s Note: Written for yuri_challenge for the prompt “Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin- first night”.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Girls and Ghosts

The first night they roomed together, Illyana told Kitty how she had died.

“You taught me to how to fight,” Illyana said. “For two years we lived hard out in the wilderness, training every day. When you thought we were ready we tried to defeat Belasco. We tried, but we never had a chance. Both of us were his creatures deep down. We both belonged to him.

“He turned you into a monster, a demon cat. I was afraid of you after that, I ran from you. Your claws and your teeth and your anger. Sometimes you caught me but sometimes your true self would shine through your eyes. That was the worst. Around the time I learned to teleport, Storm attacked Belasco. You tried to kill her. I killed you.”

Illyana related the story in a flat, even voice as if it was a fairy tale she knew by heart but which bore no relation to her actual life.

Hardly knowing what to say Kitty chose her words carefully.

“I think that what you did was a mercy,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to have lived that way.”

“That’s what I tell myself,” Illyana said.

*****

The first night Kitty spent in Limbo she was afraid. Of course during her short life Kitty Pryde had often had cause to be afraid. She knew how to live with fear.

She lived with fear as Illyana’s eyes turned red, as she sprouted horns from her forehead, fangs and a tail.

She lived with fear as her best friend shouted orders at a host of grotesque and twisted demons, flogging them mercilessly with a bullwhip.

The demons brought them dinner at a table made of human bones. Red, rare meat dripping blood, and red wine. Kitty picked at some bread and grapes while Illyana devoured the meat and drank chalice after chalice of the wine.

When at last they were together in the bedchamber Illyana reverted to herself. No horns, no tail, but the fear lingered.

“Sorry about that,” Illyana said. “The demons expect it. They wouldn’t respect me if I were soft or kind.”

“You told me once that Limbo is a reflection of your soul,” Kitty said.

“Now you’ve seen the truth about my soul.” Illyana said. “I’m not good, Kitty. There’s a poison corruption inside me.”

“You are good,” Kitty insisted. Illyana laughed. Her horns appeared.

“I’ll get you out of here first thing in the morning,” she promised. “I don’t like you being here, Kitty Cat. It reminds me of the other you, how Belasco and I destroyed you. I won’t ever let that happen to you again. I’d die first.”

Kitty threw her arms around her friend, holding onto her tight. They spent the night huddled together on the huge fur-covered bed, scarcely sleeping.

After that, every time Illyana went into Limbo Kitty felt like she was losing a little piece of her. One tiny piece each time.

*****

The first night they kissed Illyana pushed Kitty away.

“No,” she said. “Not with me.”

“Because of your brother?” Kitty asked. “He left me, remember.”

“Because of what I am,” Illyana said. “You don’t understand, Kitty. What you had with Piotr was pure. You loved him and he loved you. With me it could only be filthy and wrong.”

“I don’t believe that,” Kitty said. “Why can’t two girls love each other as much as a man and a woman?”

“They can,” Illyana assured her. “But not if one of the girls is me. You still don’t understand what I am. I was Belasco’s concubine from the time I was nine years old. I didn’t love him but I wanted to learn magik, to gain power, to save myself. I was his whore, I was his little girl.

“We did things together that people should only do if they love each other like you and Piotr did. After those years with him, I’m tainted.

“You deserve real love Kitty. You should be with someone like Doug who’s never been with anyone else. Then the two of you can explore your bodies together. You can discover it, you can invent it. I already know sex. I know all the tricks.”

“I won’t judge you, Illyana. Don’t judge yourself. You grew up in Hell, you did what you had to to survive. Anyone would have done the same. It doesn’t make you dirty. I know you. I’ve seen the little girl and the demon sorceress and the young woman and I love them all. Nothing can make you dirty.”

*****

The first night they made love they were in their room at Xavier’s school. The world was crashing down around them and they clung together. At some point in the night Kitty began kissing her friend. This time Illyana allowed it, reached up to stroke Kitty’s curls but that was all. The rest was all Kitty. There were no tricks, no advanced technique, just one girl and another girl coming together.

The first night they made love, Illyana cried.

*****

Kitty was in England when she heard that Illyana had died.

No.

Not died, just ceased to be. Every trace of her since the moment she had first disappeared into Limbo had been obliterated, cleansed from reality. She had never trained in the desert with that warped incarnation of Kitty Pryde called Cat. She had never been Belasco’s child mistress, she had never mastered the circles of light that carried her through time and space and dimensions.

Illyana Rasputin was seven years old again.

Kitty wanted to be happy for her. Better than anyone she knew how Illyana had suffered, what she had gone through in those years in Limbo. Wasn’t it a kindness, wasn’t it a mercy that she had a fresh start?

Yet Kitty could not be glad. She’d lost her best friend, her confidant, her onetime lover. As the grown-up Illyana had never existed she and Kitty had never told each other their secrets, never consoled each other, never kissed. The pain was gone, but the love was too.

That first night Kitty learned of Illyana’s fate she felt like a ghost in her own life, not just because of the insubstantial nature of her body.

My Captain: Eastern Promises Fic

bitterfic — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 11:11:31 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: My Captain
Fandom: Eastern Promises
Pairing: Nikolai/Kirill (references to Kirill/Soyka)
Summary: After he left the army, Kirill never thought he’d see Nikolai Luzhin again. Suddenly there he was in London, asking for work.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 1217
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, sex, gratuitous alcohol abuse.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

My Captain

Kirill drank too much, he had for years.

When he was young it was expected but now that he was getting older people noticed. He noticed. He couldn’t drink like he used to. More and more often he blacked out, forgot what he’d done or said. Mornings he was sick, his hands shook. The only time the hangovers really left him was when he started drinking again. A vicious cycle, but wasn’t viciousness the way of the world?

He sold young girls for a living. He didn’t care what happened to them. The only thing he cared about was his family, his family and his vodka and his cognac.

And maybe Soyka.

Soyka was a member of the vory in his father’s inner circle. Kirill dimly remembered blowing him in the loading dock of the family restaurant, the Trans-Siberian, one night. It was summer and they’d been stripped down to their undershirts, ice cubes in their drinks, waiting for a shipment. Two weeks after the blow-job Soyka had let Kirill grope him in a pub. This forbidden intimacy with other men was something Kirill had been secretly indulging in most of his life. He found it both exciting and horrifying. He already had a reputation as a drunk. If Soyka were to open his mouth, add “queer” to “drunk” it would be more than enough to destroy Kirill.

He wasn’t sure he could trust Soyka. He wasn’t even sure what or how much they’d done together but if anyone found out Kirill’s father, Semyon, would personally kill him. After all, Semyon had beat the shit out of Kirill for a lot less—botching up a business deal, coming home drunk once too often. He was old but his iron fist remained intact. Kirill respected his father immensely despite (or perhaps because of) the broken ribs and black eyes he’d suffered over the years.

The summer tended to be slow at the Trans-Siberian and Kirill left the restaurant early one particularly dead weeknight. He’d already had five or six shots of liquor over the course of the evening but that was barely enough to get him buzzed. He was eager to get to the Underground, a pub where Soyka could often be found, and begin drinking in earnest.

“Kirill,” someone called. A voice he couldn’t quite place. The solid figure of a man in a mechanics uniform appeared before him. It took a moment for him to recognize the man’s weathered face but when he did all thought of Soyka, of his father’s wrath, of the restaurant and even the pub fled from his mind.

“Nikolai Luzhin, you motherfucking bastard,” Kirill yelled. “What are you doing here?”

It had been nearly a decade since he’d laid eyes on Nikolai. They’d served in the army together, seen action in Chechnya. Kirill had never expected, never dared to hope that he would see Nikolai again. He threw himself at his long lost friend, embracing him in a hug that could only be described as consuming. Nikolai returned it stiffly. Distant as he had always been, distant, reserved but accepting of Kirill’s exuberance. That was the way they’d always been.

Kirill dragged Nikolai to the first available pub, an unfamiliar British place, and they set about catching up and getting hammered.

Nikolai had just recently come to England. He’d heard of Kirill’s family and he thought they might have a place for him.

“Doing what?” Kirill asked with a sneer, knowing exactly what kind of employment he was seeking.

“I drive, I fix cars,” Nikolai said with a shrug then he made a cutting motion across his neck. “I can do whatever you need.”

“Let me see your tattoos.”

A reasonable request, Nikolai’s history was written in his tattoos. It was his résumé and his references.

Since he couldn’t very well strip down in the pub, they went to Nikolai’s flat which wasn’t far away. Kirill was already reeling drunk; he had to throw his arm around Nikolai’s shoulders for the short walk.

Nikolai’s flat was small and shabby, but as the first thing he did was get out two mismatched glasses and pour them full of vodka Kirill was at home. Sitting at the kitchen table he watched as Nikolai peeled off his mechanics uniform, took off everything but his briefs and displayed himself.

“Good, good,” Kirill muttered, reading Nikolai’s history in the tattoos. “We can use you.”

“I can use you,” Nikolai said. “I’m living in a shithole with no money.”

Kirill poured himself another glass of vodka.

“You’re exactly where you were back when I met you,” he laughed. “Remember? When we were in the army.”

“You were my Captain,” Nikolai said, sitting at the table beside Kirill, still wearing nothing but his underwear.

“You weren’t shit,” Kirill went on. “You’d been enlisted twice as long as I had and what were you? Still a Private? Stuck in the motor pool….”

“I didn’t have a rich father to pay bribes and buy me titles.”

“Fuck you. I was a good soldier, you can’t deny that.”

“You were brave,” Nikolai agreed. “When you took shrapnel in your leg that time you kept commanding us until the attack had ended. I didn’t even realize you’d been hit till it was over.”

“I took care of you then. I’ll take care of you now.”

“Thanks.” Nikolai was so terse with words, coming from him this simple thanks meant so much. Maybe it was the vodka but it seemed to glow. The moment felt remarkably tender and Kirill dared to remember something he’d been trying for years to forget.

“Do you remember when I got out of the hospital? A couple days after that? We went out together, we got drunk.”

“Sure.”

“I took off the bandages to show you where the shrapnel went in. You touched the scar. It was like electricity running from you to me.”

Nikolai said nothing but he laid a hand on Kirill’s thigh, just above the knee where the old wound was.

“I got hard,” Kirill went on. “My dick got hard and I jerked off right there. You watched, and you never took your hand off my scar…”

“You were my Captain,” Nikolai said. “Besides, I don’t remember any of that. None of that happened. We got drunk, like we’re doing tonight. You passed out, like you’re going to tonight.”

Kirill reached out, ran his hand over Nikolai’s chest raking through the coarse hair that covered it.

“That never happened?” He asked.

“No,” Nikolai said softly but firmly. Kirill’s hand settled on the bulge of his crotch. He squeezed and Nikolai groaned though his face remained impassive.

“Is this happening?” Kirill asked.

“You’re drunk. You’re imagining things.”

He got on his knees before Nikolai, worked down his briefs. Nikolai’s penis was erect. He leaned back in the chair, spread his legs open, letting Kirill fall on him, devour him with his mouth, suck him hard, almost desperately till Nikolai was moaning, pumping his hips, fucking the hole that welcomed him. Finally he exploded, spilling come into Kirill’s mouth.

Semen dripping down his chin Kirill spat onto the floor, and grabbing his glass drained it.

“I’ll take care of you, Nikolai, like I did in the army. I’m still your Captain.”

“You are,” Nikolai said.

Bored Games: True Blood Fic

bitterfic — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:29:58 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: Bored Games
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Sookie/Sophie-Anne
Summary: A game of Candy Land with the Queen of Louisiana challenges some of Sookie’s ideas about herself.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of sex and sexuality.
Author’s Note: Written for 10,000 Lilies: A Femslash Porn Battle for the prompt “True Blood, Sookie/Sophie-Anne, bored games.”
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

Bored Games

Left alone with the Queen of Louisiana for the first time Sookie attempted to make small talk.

“You have a lovely home, your majesty,” she said awkwardly. “I hope you have time to enjoy it. You must be awfully busy what with running your kingdom and all.”

“My kingdom runs itself,” Sophie-Anne said languidly. “That’s what underlings are for.”

“Oh, well what do you do with yourself all day? I mean all night?”

“You mean besides your cousin Hadley?” Sophie-Anne asked wickedly. As she’d hoped Sookie blushed. “There’s also masturbation….” Sookie’s blush deepened but she stood her ground.

“Please, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t like that sort of talk. Let’s keep this conversation decent.”

Sophie-Anne rolled her eyes.

“Bored games,” she said.

“What was that?”

“I play bored games. B-O-R-E-D games.”

“Oh I get it, you mean like Monotony.”

“I’ve never heard of that one.”

“It was a joke. Bored Games; Monotony instead of Monopoly. Lifeless instead of Life. Yawnzee instead of Yahtzee.”

Sophie-Anne smiled condescendingly.

“And Eric assured me you had no sense of humor.” She said.

Sookie frowned but tried to be pleasant.

“I love games like that,” she said. “Most of them are pure chance so I can play without worrying about cheating by reading the other person’s mind. I can’t play something like Pictionary ‘cause I’ll pull the answers right out of the other person’s head.”

“How horrible for you.”

“Maybe we could play a game now, to pass the time till Bill gets back.”

“Candy Land,” Sophie-Anne decreed, gesturing towards a cabinet containing a stack of board games. Sookie hopped to her feet, got the game from the shelf then set up the board and shuffled the cards.

“I spin first.” Sophie-Anne said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sookie demurely agreed.

“The loser goes down on the winner.”

“What?”

“Do you not hear well? Such a shame. I said the loser goes down on the winner.”

“You mean…” Sookie pointed vaguely in the direction of her lap, “goes down on as in goes down on….”

“You’re really not very bright.”

“I know what you mean I’m just, I’m just struck dumb. I don’t go down on anyone over a game of Candy Land. I don’t go down on anyone but Bill…”

“I see, you’re in a monotonous relationship.” Sophie-Anne sneered. “That’s a joke, just like yours. Monotonous instead of monogamous. I’m surprised. Eric had hinted that you were a little more open.” Sookie blushed again.

“Maybe I’ve let Eric cross the line here and there,” she admitted. “But that’s different. Eric is a man, I’m attracted to men. I don’t think of women that way.”

“You think of me that way,” Sophie-Anne said as she spun the Candy Land spinner, moved her piece forward five spaces and sailed upward to the second tier of the game.

“I do not.”

“I’m no telepath, but I know women. You think I’m beautiful.”

“Well, yes,” Sookie admitted. “You’re very beautiful but I can appreciate that without wanting to have sex with you.”

“Take your turn.”

“Okay, sorry.” Sookie spun and advanced a mere three spaces.

“You’re curious about me and Hadley too. I could see it in your eyes when I mentioned her.”

“It surprised me, finding out about you and Hadley. I mean she was wild but she and I were brought up the same way. I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“Everyone has it in them,” Sophie-Anne said, taking her turn. “To say otherwise is to deceive yourself.”

“I know myself. I’m not interested in girls.”

“Hadley told me that when you were small the two of you…”

“That was kid stuff,” Sookie cried. “We were just practicing kissing, to do it with boys. Hadley had no right to tell you about that.”

“She didn’t, you did.” Sophie-Anne said triumphantly. “I’m winning.”

“I’m not playing.”

“You’re curious, you’re attracted to me, and you’re playing.”

Sookie took her turn. Sophie-Anne smiled like a very satisfied cat as she moved her piece forward.

“If I win, no biting,” Sookie said.

Writing Meme

bitterfic — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 22:53:38 GMT

From bradygirl_12

Choose a story of mine and I'll talk a little about it: what inspired me to write it, what research I did for it, whatever comes to mind! :)

The White Lady: Alice In Wonderland Fic

bitterfic — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 17:54:15 GMT

Author: Bitterfig
Title: The White Lady
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland
Pairing: Alice/The White Queen
Summary: Six years after liberating Underland Alice has made a fortune trading opium in China. When a reformer questions the morality of her actions Alice must confront what she has become.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 2604
Rating: R
Warnings: This story addresses racism and imperialism. It also contains sexual content and drug use.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.

The White Lady

Six years after slaying the Jabberwocky and breaking her engagement, Alice had done quite well for herself. She amassed a considerable fortune trading opium in China.

Indeed, she was so successful that she was among the business people singled out for attention by the reformer Yvonne Song. Miss Song was a Chinese woman with a strong objection to foreign merchants (at least those who dealt in opium). Alice thought she sounded quite tiresome but agreed that the two of them should meet at Alice’s Shanghai townhouse.

Upon meeting the reformer, Alice found herself pleasantly surprised. Miss Song was a very attractive woman (Alice’s favorite sort.) She was very petite, slender and fine-boned as a little doll. Her round face was dominated by huge, dark eyes that seemed to take all things in. She was wearing a European style dress made of layer upon layer of white lawn.

Alice herself was wearing Chinese costume, a sky blue silk robe held in place by a pink sash, the whole affair embroidered with tiny pink roses. Somehow the odd reversal of an English woman in Chinese dress and a Chinese woman in English dress struck Alice as remarkably droll. She laughed and clapped her hands.

“Well, look at the two of us, what a pair we make,” Alice declared. “We ought to change clothes. Then I could be a proper lady and you a traditional woman of your people.” She found the idea of changing clothes with Miss Song appealed to her immensely but the Chinese woman had other matters on her mind.

“Perhaps we chose to wear the clothes of each other’s countries because we hope to understand each other,” Miss Song said demurely.

“Oh, I understand your country very well,” Alice said. “No one’s made more money than I have. Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Miss Song said graciously and Alice poured.

“China is lovely, it really is,” Alice assured the woman. “A very pretty country and the people aren’t nearly so bad as I expected. Most of you are very polite and don’t smell bad at all.”

“Well…. thank you…”

“Backwards and superstitious of course, but the missionaries will take care of that.” Alice went on , popping three sugar cubes in her tea. “What matters is that you’re a good market, eager for my wares. That’s what concerns me the most.”

“That also concerns me deeply.”

“Oh you mustn’t furrow your brow like that, Miss Song. You look so sad.”

“Please understand, Miss Kingsley, your wares are a blight on this country. They’re destroying it, you’re destroying it.”

“Me?” Alice asked. “I hardly think so. I’m an honest merchant. I deal fairly with everyone, I offer a good product.”

“You offer opium. You sell madness, addiction, death.”

“Pish- tosh. I don’t force anyone to do anything they don’t want to do. All I do is make the opium available.”

“And it is ravaging the country.”

“Is that my fault? Do I put a gun to anyone’s head and tell them ‘smoke this’? I think not.”

Miss Song was on her feet, cheeks flushed.

“You’ve grown rich on the misery of others,” she cried. Alice considered slapping her for a moment then laughed, tossed her hand dismissively.

“I’ve grown rich all right,” she said. “I’ve grown rich because of my own good sense, my own hard work, my own muchness. I’ve earned every penny of my fortune by making the right choices. If your countrymen make the wrong choices how is that my fault? Cigarette? No? Now tell me, what do you want?”

“What do I want?”

“What do you expect me to do? Drop my main product? Give up the opium trade and go back to England with my tail between my legs?”

“I only want you to see the devastation….”

“Show me then. I fancy a walk. Show me these audacities I’m supposedly responsible for.” She laughed, an edge of cruelty to her merriment but Miss Song did not back down.

“Come with me then,” she said. “It’s not far. You’d be surprised at how close the fruits of your trade fall from the tree. Just down the street from this fine townhouse I can show you a den of iniquity where lives are spent on the White Lady.”

And for a moment Alice paused.

“The White Lady? Who is she?” Alice asked, then almost to herself. “I knew a White Lady once, I loved her dearly.”

“I don’t mean an actual woman,” Miss Song said. “The White Lady is what opium is sometimes called.”

“Oh yes, opium.” Alice said smiling again. “You do hate opium, don’t you Miss Song, opium and those of us who deal in it.”

“I hate no one.” The Chinese woman said. “I love my country and my fellow man. I fight not against you but for them.”

Again, Alice paused.

“How very odd,” she finally said. “You sounded a bit like her.”

“Like who?”

“My White Lady.”

As Miss Song had promised they did not need to venture far from Alice’s luxurious neighborhood to find an opium den. Just a few blocks away was a dark little hideaway swathed in sweet-smelling smoke. In the close darkness bodies lay, seemingly lifeless, on cushions and couches. Alice examined the scene with curiosity.

“Dear me,” she said. “Look at the pipes. I used to know a caterpillar who smoked a pipe like that.”

“A caterpillar?” Miss Song asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“How odd that I should be reminded of him here, so soon after you mention the White Lady.”

“I don’t understand at all but you must see the human degradation of this place….” Miss Song began but Alice was miles away.

“It’s like they’re sending me a message,” she said. “I think that must be what it is. I think I must try this opium.”

Miss Song’s tiny hand flew to her throat.

“You mustn’t,” she cried in genuine alarm.

“Pish-tosh. I certainly must. It seems to me some friends of mine are asking me to visit. It would be dreadfully rude of me to decline their invitation. Say you,” she called to the proprietor of the establishment. “Fetch me a pipe.”

“I won’t leave you alone in this horrid place,” Miss Song vowed.

“Well I’m much obliged then,” Alice said and gave her a kiss on the nose. The proprietor offered her a pipe and Alice took it, graciously allowing him to light it for her. She inhaling the smoke and she abruptly dropped to the floor. “Dear me, everything’s spinning. You’re spinning, Miss Song. In fact, I don’t think you’re Miss Song at all.”

And indeed, she wasn’t. As the room spun it seemed to open up, changing to a lovely garden, and Miss Song seemed to change as well. Her lips grew dark and her hair grew long and pale.

“Mirana,” Alice cried. “I mean Your Highness. Is it really you?”

“My champion,” cried the White Queen.

Alice threw herself on the White Queen, kissing her passionately.

“How delighted I am to see you!” She exclaimed. “Where is Tarrant? Still making hats? And Bayard? His pups must be all grown up by now. How wonderful it will be to see all my friends again!”

“I’m sorry, Alice, but you can’t stay long. I’m afraid it took all my magic to bring you here and I can’t keep you long.”

“What a shame, but at least I’m reunited with you my dearest. I couldn’t be happier. We must make the most of our time together. Do you still have that unicorn’s horn?”

“No, no, no my dear,” the White Queen said shaking a finger. “Much as I’d like to unwrap you from that blue silk and make love for the duration of your stay we have a most important matter to discuss.”

“What could it be?” Alice asked. “Do you have a Jabberwocky that needs to be slain or an invading army to be turned away? I’ll raise my sword and vanquish them!”

“Nothing like that,” Mirana said blithely. “This concerns your world.”

“My world? What of it?”

“You see,” Mirana said coyly putting a finger to her lips, “over the past six years I’ve done my very best to keep abreast of what you do. After all, you are my White Knight. I’ve found you’re a most clever businesswoman, that you’ve had great success and are absolutely blossoming. And yet I fear you’ve lost your way. That this opium trade of yours threatens to make you into someone I don’t know and can not love.”

“Oh!” Alice cried and stamped her foot. “How tiresome. How very tiresome. I’m sick to death of pretty women taking me to task for the morality of my business dealings. You sound exactly like that Miss Song. Yes I sell opium. It’s legal, why it’s encouraged! If I stopped, someone else would do it and I’d be left with nothing besides.”

“Look into your heart, my beloved and you’ll see that what you’re doing is wrong. Deep inside you’re still my sweet Alice, I’m sure of it.”

“Still Alice? Let me assure you, Your Highness, that I’ve never been more Alice than I am today. I do a dozen impossible things each day. I’m a woman, yet I’m a success in business. I have no husband, no children and yet I am respected. I deal with men on an equal footing. I’ve travelled the world. I’m twenty-five and I’ve kept my looks….”
“But none of that matters if you’ve lost yourself. You have muchness, Alice, confidence and bravado, daring and intelligence. You have muchness in enormous quantity but I fear your heart has become hard. You’re beginning to remind me of my sister.”

“Horrors. I’m nothing like her. “

“Can’t you see that you’re becoming just like her? You reap your gains, not caring who you hurt. Do you remember when you were a child, painting white roses red? You’re doing it again, to a whole country. Painting it red with blood, laughing as you do so.”

“I won’t hear this. I’m an honest merchant. I do nothing wrong.”

“You cause harm.”

“Who do I harm? No one who matters, just a few Chinamen.”

“Listen to yourself, beloved. Is this who you want to be? “

“What would you have me be?” Alice said, her voice rising sharply. “You’re a Queen, if you decree people ought to be kind and cause no harm they have to do as you say, but I have to make my way in a world where I don’t make the rules. You sit in your marble palace and judge me, but you’ve never been threatened with poverty. You’ve never had to consider a loveless marriage just to keep a roof over your head. In my world it’s eat or be eaten, Your Highness, and if that makes me like your sister so be it. If you don’t like it perhaps you should find another champion.”

“Perhaps I shall.”

“Then perhaps you can go to hell,” Alice screamed.

“How dare you.” Mirana cried and before Alice knew what was happening her white hand flew up and delivered a stinging slap. “How dare you talk to me in that way? I am your Queen.”

Alice was too stunned to answer, she only stood there, mouth open, staring at the other woman. With her flashing eyes and bared teeth, she scarcely seemed like Mirana at all.

Then quickly as the fire had sprung up, it died down. Mirana crumpled to the ground, her breast heaving with sobs.

“What have I done,” she wept. “I’ve broken my vows. I’ve willfully harmed another creature with my own hand. I disgrace myself. I disgrace my crown. Oh woe is me.”

“Oh dear, what have I done?” Alice wondered aloud as she flew to the Queen’s side. “Please Your Highness, it really didn’t hurt a bit.”

“Don’t you see Alice,” the White Queen sobbed, “there’s a Red Queen in each of us, even me. A part of me that’s a spoiled child, wanting her own way. We each have to fight against that part of ourselves, me by keeping to my vows, and you by doing the right thing, even if it is difficult and unpleasant.”

And Alice knew that whether she liked it or not, Mirana was right. It had been so awful and frightening when the White Queen slapped her in the face, but Alice was certainly slapping any number of people in the face each day and thinking nothing of it. She did not want to be a person who did that.

“Oh, Your Highness,” Alice said, “I think I see what you mean and what Miss Song was trying to tell me. I have been selfish and spoiled, thinking only of myself, and what a horrible place the world would be if everyone was like that. I’ll learn to keep the naughty part of me in check as you have, truly I will. I’ll find a way to stop my part in the opium trade. I promise I will. I’ll be a noble champion to you from now on.”

The White Queen smiled.

“You’re a good girl, Alice,” she said embracing her champion. “I knew you were. I’m so sorry I raised my hand to you.”

Alice stroked her hair, soft and fine as a bolt of silk.

“You said I couldn’t stay long, Mirana. Please, before I go to face these decisions give me something to remember you by, something to draw strength from.”

“But of course,” The White Queen said. She gathered Alice to her, drawing her down onto the carpet of crushed white petals that was the garden floor. Lying there together they kissed, long and deep, kissed to the exclusion of all else, Mirana’s black lips against Alice’s pink lips, the press of body against body, the warmth and weight.

Alice reached for Mirana’s breast, plush and full against her own. She freed the White Queen’s breasts from the confines of the white lawn dress and kissed them all over, paying special attention to the violet pink nipple, teasing with her lips and tongue till Mirana was moaning, her legs parted beneath her skirts, drawing Alice nearer.

Alice undressed her, peeling off the gown so Mirana lay beneath her in just her corset, her stockings and scanties.

“So lovely,” Alice said as the White Queen untied the pink sash of her robe. “So very lovely. You are my Queen, my Lady and my goodness.” Mirana took Alice’s hand and placed it between her legs where she was slippery wet. Alice stroked her there then bent, tasting the salty creaminess of her. The White Queen’s legs curled about her golden head and shoulders.

Afterwards as they lay in each other’s arms the garden began to spin. The sky became dark and close, the crushed petals transforming into a dirty sofa. Alice looked at the face of the woman who held her and saw that it was Yvonne Song.

“Miss Kingsley, thank goodness you’ve come around at last,” Miss Song cried. “It’s been nearly a day.”

“And you waited here with me?” Alice asked.

“I certainly wouldn’t have left you alone in a place like that.”

“Yes, I think you are right about places like this, Miss Song. They benefit no one but me. I think you are right about many things.” She stood, taking Miss Song’s arm. “I don’t know how I should change but you’ll help me, won’t you. It seems quite impossible to make my way in the world without the opium trade, but I’ve done the impossible before, haven’t I.”