I ask you Abdullah.....

Hey!

querulouspeg — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 19:28:48 GMT

So it has come to my attention that it has been a really really long time since I updated my journal. I'm on vacay next week so I will post then, just to let anyone who may be interested, know what I have been and am up to.

In the mean time, hugs to you all!

Hare Krishna!
Peg/Horton/PQ

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Star Trek Into Darkness blathering. SPOILERS!

querulouspeg — Thu, 09 May 2013 21:30:59 GMT

I will talk a lot about Spock/Uhura and my fanfic future with them but I'll also put thoughts on other stuff too!

All in all, really good. Def worth 3D for sure. All round nice character development altho I obviously want more for Uhura because I love her and want to see her kicking butt and being awesome. She's the only main girl, Carol notwithstanding. Still she does more or less as much as Bones and Scotty, tho obvs because they are doctor and engineer their roles seem more immediately profound. Kirk learns lessons in power games and morality and his relationship with Spock develops well - like, I thought we were friends and you act like this and I know I have to grow up but, look, there I grew up. Spock realizes that logic alone is not enough and that emotion can achieve great things. He's impossible not to love, especially when he talks about his meld with Pike. DAWW BB! Pike - love him. Great character. Cumberbatch is frankly brilliant, you love him and fear him. A truly terrifying character. Carol Marcus, actually LOVED her and the underwear scene is actually funny and in context and a nice nod to her and Kirk potentially getting it on and creating David from the original movies. Plus her presence is explained reasonably and she gets to show that she has a mind. Bones is cantankerous and brilliant and lends a lot of humanity, Chekov is great, he is so young and what he contributes just totes suited that character, Sulu is awesome. I sorta fell in love with him because just argh, Sulu is a class act. Oh and let's not forget Scotty, Scotty just is the glue for the whole thing. We talk about the triumvirate of Kirk, Spock and McCoy but Scotty was always in there and super buds with the lot of them.

I am happy with Spock/Uhura, no massive pashing but good enough for me. There wasn't a huge amount of them in the first movie anyway so I get that this franchise isn't going to give us major chick emo porn feels on the big screen. That's why I write fanfic. Yeah I think I can reconcile them as they are in this movie with how I have established them in my fics and my headcanon. I can still see that Spock and Nyota more or less met and could not keep their mitts of each other's fine fine bodies. Spock is brilliant, moral and masculine throughout despite his apparent coolness. You can tell he views Nyota with a lot of respect and values her intellect and her emotional intelligence. You can see why she struggles with his behaviour and why she loves him in spite of it. They have this kind of accidentally in love vibe, like it wasn't what either of them expected but they can't help it and we envy them because they are so sexy and you would love to be a fly on the wall. And Spock IS sexy in this movie, esp in his grey uniform and cap. Fuck me, so hot. And Ny looks gorgeous too, esp in her greys and in her incognito let's find Harrison get up. Nice to see Hendorff pop up too. We don't know her name but I also loved the black chick who is at Chekov's station on the bridge. She is soo cool. In my head she can be Lt Charlene Masters from TOS so it will be nice to invent backstory and interactions for her character in fanfiction too. She was, you might say, super fly (seems kinda lame to say that given that she is piloting the Enterprise arf arf). Back to Spock and Uhura....

....I think, with some thoughtful ficcing we can get them to how they are interacting in this movie. Sure. I have written them post 2009 mostly via a pseud, partly because I wanted to see how they would be portrayed in the movie before I invented the backstory, like all fanfic writers did with the first movie, and partly because I was writing them having this messed up dom/sub style relationship involving whips and chains and buttsecks and butt plugs and Spock being massively scary. This was a result of a challenge prompt that got out of hand but I'm unrepentant because of all the nasty porn I have got out of that fic bwahahaha. I'm just answering a fandom need! In the movie, their interactions are kinda innocent so I'm not sure entirely I am able to reconcile that chain of events with how they are - I'm not sure I can see that Uhura wearing her buttplug but even less so can I see that Spock buying one for her. Stelam Spock is more damaged than Into Darkness Spock. Clearly his emotional repression works to a point because he seems a lot less twisted than perhaps I have written him. That's partly why I wrote Stelam under a pseud, to separate it from PoorQueequegs headcanon.

However the non pseud PQ post 2009 crack I wrote involving the Peanut Butter Twix......yeah, definitely I can see this Into Darkness Spock acting like that and Kirk not really understanding how they work as a couple until Bones comes along and says well, come on Jim, you KNOW how Spock gets sometimes.

In PQ's head, Sufficiently Familiar still fits with this movie. Flawed Logic could too, but that is more cracky and silly as a fic and I prefer them as they are in Sufficiently Familiar. They are more flawed and real methinks. In Sufficiently Familiar Spock is much more closed off and only able to express his emotions for Nyota through sex and gestures of tenderness. She finds herself swept up in something she can't really control and it bothers the shit out of her and more, her reactions to Spock's violent outbursts are in keeping with what we see in both 2009 and Into Darkness. After this movie I can still perfectly picture them together in that vibe, bonded and happy with that but struggling because they are so different. I love that Spock fears her temper in Into Darkness because in Sufficiently Familiar I wrote her snippy as fuck and constantly fighting against him and when he fucks up emotionally she really makes him suffer. I can also reconcile Uhura arguing with him in the shuttle to the Klingon homeworld because in SF when they argue Spock has a tendency to grab her and fuck her into submission. If that is how things are between them I can see her being all uptight and annoyed with him like she is in this movie because it would be like when she had attempted to express her dissatisfaction with his attitude/behaviour she couldn't get any reasonable response out of him because he just put his Spock moves on her and she capitulated. She can only really give him a verbal bashing in public because she knows he wouldn't dare try that shit in front of the others! Also she is seething from not having been able to get her point across in spite of the weight of her grievance.

ZQ's Spock is great actually, he's squishable but so so Spockish. And fierce man, that sexy scowl and how he rocks his uniforms with bulging muscles and that fine butt. Honestly, poor Ny never stood a chance. I can see them meeting and spending a good long moment checking eachother out and then locking eyes and being like woah, you know I was checking you out and I was checking you out too and oh my, we so FIIIINE cue Spock being all like, logical reason to interact: Your Klingon is not so great, you better come to my special extra curricular sessions and work on that and she's all like, sheesh Vulcans are so blunt but OMG SPOOOCK IS SO HOT okay sir. And nice that she has to speak Klingon in this movie and that that is how I wrote them first spending time together in Sufficiently Familiar. It adds a nice touch of mentor/protegee kink.

So yeah for me, after Spock beats Khan down and they take him back to the Enterprise to hand him over to Bones, when they are alone together again, they have a shy, tender snuggle and rub their noses together a lot while she's tucked up in his lap and they are all cooing and snuggling and smoochin' for a while and eventually get back to the hot Vulcan loving. I can't wait to see Spock go Pon Farr cray cray in the next movie, suus mahna-ing bizzatches left right and centre while rocking a sexy beard and grabbing on Ny like BB LET'S BANG AND NEVER STOP........

..........http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgJyjchT4Dc

Fucking dirty bastard smelly vulcan.

querulouspeg — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 13:13:30 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I0SJ9HuB5k

Love, Lies & Lizard Babies Chapter 11

querulouspeg — Wed, 09 May 2012 23:16:19 GMT

It's been an aeon or near as damn it but I have finally fished out the next chapter of my Helen Magnus/OMC fic.

Title: Love, Lies & Lizard Babies
Pairing: Helen/OMC
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. You know it. I know it. 'Nuff said.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Just so you know. Violence, foul language, boobs etc.
Summary: The morning after the night before.

You can read previous chapters on my LJ here here

....and you can find chapter eleven

Helen gradually became aware of a soft nudging against her cheek, a loud purr in her ear and opened her eyes to find the cat perched elegantly on the bed beside her. It opened its mouth and made a pathetic, croaky meow and reached forward again to butt its head against her. Helen pushed up on her elbows, Jason's arm stretching across her waist and his head buried against her hair as it curled wildly across the pillows. Jason shifted as she sat up, sniffing and rolling onto his back. The cat padded across her legs and she pressed her fingers in the soft fur behind its ears.

“Ah, cat...” Jason groused as it stepped heavily onto his stomach and walked across his torso, wincing as soft paws pressed against the bruise on his chest. The cat meowed more purposefully and Jason rubbed its head between his palms as he sat up. “Alright, alright,” he told it, sliding a hand under its stomach and lifting it haphazardly to the floor. “Good morning,” he said, leaning to one side and pressing his nose against Helen's bare shoulder, smiling at her as he turned and dropped his feet to the floor.

“Afternoon,” Helen replied with a mild grin, tipping her chin towards the clock beside the bed. He chuffed and took a couple of wobbly steps forward. The cat jogged happily towards the door, tail erect and stopped to look back at Jason as he hopped a couple of steps, bending his knee up to pull up his jeans Helen chuckled and he turned to her with a mock glare.

“You want some breakfast?” he croaked, his voice rough with sleep and Helen's stomach growled in response. She shrugged a shoulder and slipped out of the bed, wrapping the blanket around her as she followed him down the stairs.

Helen peered round the doorway into the kitchen to see the cat sitting elegantly on the floor beside Jason, her eyes falling to his bare backside as he spooned cat food into a dish. “There, that should keep you happy for a while, you little bastard,” he told the creature, stroking its ears for a second before straightening up. He turned and met Helen's amused stare. “What? You don't talk to your animals?” Helen furrowed her brow thoughtfully, pursing her lips as she tilted her head to one side.
Jason shook his head and raised his hand. “No, don't answer that,” he said before she could reply and smiled at her playfully as he crossed the room and opened the fridge. “I don't have have much in,” he explained as she shuffled across the floor towards him, the blanket catching around her feet. “Eggs?” he asked, pulling out box and hooking a carton of milk in his index finger. Helen stepped into the circle of his arms as he turned around and he wrapped them around her as she kissed him.

They staggered back a few steps and Helen hummed against his mouth, chuckling as Jason tripped on the blanket and pressed her against the counter. She pulled back and smiled at him, placing her palms against his chest when he chased her with his lips, craning his neck down to reach her and squeezing her tightly. “Feed me first,” she protested, squirming in his embrace and he laughed, a low rumbling sound that went straight to her crotch and made her shiver.

“Alright,” he conceded with a lazy smile and released her to pad barefoot across the kitchen to the stove. Helen admired his body as he bent over to pull a pan out of the cupboard, the muscles in his back flexing appealingly as he straightened up again. She watched for few moments as he dropped some oil into the pan before turning to gaze out of the window at the garden beyond. She turned and shuffled forward, the gentle hiss and crackle of frying eggs filling her ears and she exhaled slowly, peering through the glass with lazy eyes.

“Maybe you could make some toast?” Jason told her idly and she turned to find him leaning with his hip against the cooker, the spatula tapping lightly against his bicep. Helen smiled and shuffled closer and his eyes dropped to the knot on the front of the sheet around her body as she leant forward to drop two slices of bread into the toaster. Helen reached up on tip toes and pressed a playful kiss to his lips, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. The spatula fell to the floor with a clatter as Jason shoved her up on the counter and spread her legs, the back of her head knocking against the cupboard as his tongue delved between her thighs. A spot of fat spat hotly out of the pan and stung her on the hip as the eggs sizzled, forgotten on the stove.

After becoming intimately familiar with the swirling pattern on the carpet as Jason ground into her from behind, Helen sat on his lap on the floor eating toast as the eggs sat untouched in the pan, their edges brown and crisp like burnt plastic. She dropped head back against his shoulder while he idly fondled her breasts and let out a long sigh as Jason hummed lazily into her ear.

“You. Are. Gorgeous,” he told her, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck. She squirmed in his arms and she smiled against the crust of bread between her lips. “You must get told that all the time.” Helen didn't answer, just turned her head away and stroked up and down his forearms, the coarse hair on his skin tickling her palm. “Hmm?” Jason said gently, reaching up and cupping her cheek and turning her head back to look at her face. Helen's lips curved up at the edges and she peered at him through lazy, slitted eyes, worrying the edge of the bread against her lips with a cheeky smile.

“You're not so bad yourself,” she grumbled, playfully jerking his chin from side to side, dragging her fingers into his beard and rubbing them across the corners of his lips as she crunched on the last mouthful of bread. Jason bared his teeth and nipped at her fingertips.

“Let's just stay right here, all day,” he said craning his neck and pressing her head closer, slanting his lips over her mouth. Helen laughed and squirmed in his embrace, chuckling as she tried to brush the crumbs away from her mouth against his insistent kiss. She turned in his lap and held his head in her hands, kissing him hungrily and as his hands slid down to squeeze at her ass her phone began to vibrate loudly on the countertop across the room. Jason pouted his lips as she made to stand, so she let the round swell of her backside brush tauntingly in his face as she rose. He growled and squeezed her cheeks as she stepped away, grinning from ear to hear as she picked up her phone.

“Henry!” she exclaimed as she put it to her ear, leaning back against the counter to watch as Jason pulled himself to his feet and jabbed at the ruined eggs on the stove. He crossed to the bin and the eggs dropped into the bag with a splat. “Yes, alright. Hmmm. No actually perhaps it's better if I meet you at the hotel. Oh, I see,” Helen chattered to the voice at the other end of the line and turned her head to peer into the front room at the sound of a heavy knocking on the door.

Jason paused for a moment and gave her a concerned look which she returned with a wide eyed quirk of her brow. He licked his lips and cleared his throat before stepping out of the kitchen towards it.

“Alright, well....I'm at...” Helen turned to look around for some evidence to her location, stooping to pull the sheet around her bare form there was another more insistent knock on the door. “Thirteen oh eight Burnt Oak Drive,” she read from a utility bill stuck behind the fruit bowl. “Okay, uh huh” she replied as Henry babbled down the phone, quietly padding into the front room. Through the slats of the blinds across the window she could just make out the black and white of a police car parked on the street in front of the house. “Bollocks,” she said quietly, the soft murmuring of voices wafting through the closed door. “Oh, no, not you Henry darling. It's just.....actually, Henry, if you wouldn't mind I have a better idea....”

Jason smiled anxiously, rubbing his palm across his bare chest and squashing his hand under his armpit in an attempt to obscure the enormous bruise on his torso. Two cops, a thin one and a slightly overweight one were silhouetted by the bright sun behind and Jason squinted, trying to concentrate as they spoke.

“Mr Treesee?” the thin cop said in a grim tone.

“Ah, Tracey, it's pronounced Tracey,” Jason replied with a nervous smile. “Can I er, help you?”

He could not help noticing as they both lowered the gazes, their eyes flicking from the blue shape on his chest before glancing back at each other.

“Mr Treesee do you own a nineteen sixty Seven Ford Mustang color dark green registration D H D 2...” Fat Cop intoned in a flat voice, a sour look on his face as he read from a pad in his hand .

“Ah, yes, yes, that's my car,” Jason said forcing a particularly cheerful grin. “Has something happened?”he asked, clearing his throat a little.

“Ah Mr Treesee, there was an incident early this morning at the railway crossing on Fitzgerald Street...” Fat Cop began to explain, flipping the pad shut and stowing it in his breast pocket.

“Oh yeah?” Jason said, crossing his arms tightly and shifting from foot to foot.

“Sir it seems your car was parked across the crossing when a train came along and...”

Jason raised his brows and tried to look surprised as the cop spoke, ignoring the itch on the side of his head where the band aid was peeling away.

“...well sir, as you can imagine there was quite a lot of damage.”

“Sheesh! Oh my....ah...god!” Jason exclaimed, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “Is...ah...was anybody hurt?”

“No sir,” Thin Cop answered dourly as Fat Cop craned his neck around the door to peer inside the house.

“Sir, do you have any idea how your vehicle came to be parked across the train tracks?” Thin Cop asked, digging his fingers into his belt and straightening up to fix Jason with a stern look.

“Ah...oh right, yeah....” Jason began, his eyes wide as he chewed his lip for a moment. “Yeah...I ah....was driving.....home!” he explained in what he hoped was a pleasant tone only to be met with a stoney glare from the two cops on his porch. “I was ah...driving home....late last night and I ah....we broke down!” Jason lifted his chin, looking from one to the other.

“You broke down?” Fat cop repeated flatly. Jason pursed his lips and nodded.

“Hmm mmm, that's right. We broke down....on Fitzgerald Street....you know that hill!” he uttered breathily in a playful tone. “And so....we left car and walked home. I was gonna come back today and ah....pick it up.”

“We?” Fat Cop asked, quirking a brow. Jason turned to him and stared at him blankly for a minute.

“Yesss,” Jason replied. “My ah.....companion....and I.”

“And may with speak with your....companion? Sir?” Thin cop asked insistently. Jason swallowed and jerked his head around birdlike for a second before plastering a cheesy grin across his face and taking a step back.

“Sure...ah this way,” he said, reaching to turn the handle of the door to the front room of the house. Behind him the two cops exchanged a look before stepping inside.

Jason entered the lounge ahead of them and grabbed his t shirt from where it hung over the back of a chair and pulled it over his head. He stared at the white wood of the door that separated the two rooms and hoped that Helen had had the good sense to move her gun from the counter. As he turned to rap gently on the door he noticed her clothes were missing from the heater on the wall.

“Ah, Helen, honey,” he called and chuffed in mock irritation as the two cops stared at him unamused. “Sweetheart, we have a visitors. Two gentleman from the police are here about the ca-ar,” he said in a sing song voice to the door. “She's ah...probably getting dressed,” he explained with a toothy grin. “We had...a late breakfast.” Jason was smiling so hard his jaw was starting to ache.

The two cops stood watching him stone faced. The clock on the wall ticked loudly and Jason coughed before turning back to the door and knocking firmly. “Helen!” he said in a loud voice and the two cops exchanged a look as he turned his back on them to open the door a crack and peer into the kitchen for a moment before he opened it wide abruptly and stepped inside.

Jason's brows shot up as he entered, stooping to pick the bedsheet from where it lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and looked up to see Sweep sitting in the open back door aggressively cleaning her rear end. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed as he straightened up and took a couple of brisk steps towards it. “Helen?” he shouted as he reached the doorway. “Hey!” he yelled down the garden at the sight of her retreating figure slipping through the gap in the hedge followed by the sound of the gate clattering loudly shut behind her.

“Unbelievable!” he huffed and instinctively set off at a sprint after her, jumping over the cat who startled and turned around in quick circles before skittering up the fence in terror as the two cops came bursting out onto the porch in pursuit.

“HELEN!” Jason bawled as he exited the gate onto the muddy track behind the house to see her running at full speed up the hill towards a black van that waited at the top. “HELEN YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!” he screeched at the top of his lungs, his bare feet splashing in the muddy depressions that littered the ground. Helen reached the van and heaved the sliding door open, climbing inside and turning to look down the path behind her as the engine revved. She wore a look of contrition and gave a brief shrug of her shoulders before the van pulled away, its tires squealing loudly in the mud before it disappeared around the corner.

Jason came to a staggering halt and smacked his palms against his bald head, wincing slightly as he knocked the band aid askew, a thin trail of blood trickling hotly down the side of his face. He started in surprise as something hard impacted him from behind, a loud “Oof!” of breath escaping his lungs as his face impacted with a wet pool of mud. Jason groaned in discomfort as the cop straddled his back and twisted his arms behind him, bellowing loudly in his ear but he could have been saying anything because at that moment the only thing Jason could think of was how he was absolutely, positively going to kill Helen Magnus.

Bingolicious!

querulouspeg — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 20:39:21 GMT

Yet another Sanctuary Bingo drabble from mein Brain.

Title: UG I can't think of a title. Leave any suggestions in the comments!
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: PG-13 I guess....
Warnings: Erm....naaah, nothing.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Set during Season 1, shortly after Will joins the Sanctuary.
Summary: Everyone likes patisserie, don't they?
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt 'New/Old City'. Essentially ripped off scene from every and any angsty romance movie you've ever seen. Two things I've noticed about me and William is that I tend to write him in the present simple and also that I like to make him a voyeur. Poor lad.

It's a Thursday afternoon and Will finds himself in New City. It's been quiet at the Sanctuary the last week; Ashley took her new bike out and hasn't been home for two days and Henry seems more interested in taking apart old machines and pillaging them for parts than talking so Will figured he'd take the time to head back to his old apartment and finally sort out his junk.

“There's a place for you here, Doctor Zimmerman,” Magnus had said. “If you'd like, that is. No pressure.” She gazed at him across her desk with a mild expression and Will had tapped the tip of his index finger against the arm of his chair and chewed on his lip for all of two seconds before giving her his answer. She'd smiled a dazzling, warm smile at him and although he'd never admit it, Will took a moment to appreciate once more quite how disconcertingly attractive his new boss was.

When he's boxed away the last few items, he stands at the door for a long minute and looks around his apartment one last time. He gives himself a moment to say goodbye, for the sake of giving this part of his life it's psychological due but he already knows he isn't going to miss it. There are other more interesting and more exciting things waiting for him across the bridge in Old City and he's starting to feel he might have found somewhere to call home. It's weird and strange and creepy and wonderful and even though he feels greener than that first year out of the Academy, it's totally utterly worth it. The door clicks closed behind him and he posts the keys into the mailbox downstairs and doesn't look back.

He loads the final box of books into the trunk of his car and wrinkles his nose as he walks around to the driver's side. He's not paying rent now so he's got more disposable income and perhaps he might just get himself something a little nicer to drive. Why not? His new employer just bought her daughter a BMW motorcycle that cost more than he's paid in rent the last two years and it wasn't even her birthday.

As he's driving across the city he stops in the queue of traffic and while he's waiting for the lights to change, peers out of the window at the facade of a cute boho cafe he'd promised Meg he'd take her to for lunch but never had. There are people sitting at tables outside sharing wine and chit chat and when the light goes green, Will cuts up the driver in the lane beside him so he can turn off down a side street and find somewhere to park.

Inside he waits at the counter while they fix him a coffee and pack a slice of a really really nice looking tarte aux framboises into a box for him. He passes the time skimming the lunch menu and though he could really really go for the entrecote he always thinks it's a bit depressing eating out alone and besides, he'd want half a bottle of Cabernet to wash it down with and he's still got to get across the bridge.

Behind him he hears a man talking in rapid French, getting progressively louder and louder. A woman replies in a hushed, hissing voice that tells Will she really doesn't want to be having such a conversation in public. Will doesn't speak much French so the topic of their discussion is mostly lost on him but from the sound of it, the conversation is rapidly turning into an argument. He lifts his head to peruse the selection of spirits on the shelf behind the counter and hears the squeal of chair legs against the tiled floor followed by the rapid click clack of high heels. The bell on the door clangs and then it clatters shut and Will turns his head to see a tall man with a mop of dark hair storming towards the door with a pout on his face.

It's the kind of face that leaves Will indifferent but he knows from experience this it's the kind of face women like. Tall with chiselled almost feline features and pouty lips and so utterly French Will wants to roll his eyes at how tragic it all is. It's hardly a leap for him to assume that Casanova is in the midst of a no doubt dreadfully angst-ridden and tediously cliché lover's tiff with whoever just flounced out of the door.

Will is not in anyway interested in the tawdry goings on of this perfect stranger and it's purely out of the boredom of waiting for his cake that he turns his head the other way to watch through the window as Casanova trots up the sidewalk after his amour. He reaches out and catches her roughly by the arm, her long wavy hair bounces appealingly over her shoulder and when Will sees her face his eyes go wide.

He snaps his head around and hides his face, mortified at the prospect of seeing his new boss in such a situation but more concerned with avoiding the awkwardness of morning meetings if she knew that he had seen. He has a feeling such public displays are anathema to the polished, upright Doctor Magnus, although imagines it's par for the course with her. Even when she's at her most prim, she exudes a warm sensuality that is very, very appealing. Will stares ahead at a bottle of Galliano on the shelf in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says in a loud voice as the barista hands him a white patisserie box, trying to drown out the muffled voices drifting through the window. When the barista rings up his bill, Will sees their warped reflection in the polished brass of the cash register. Casanova pulls her in for a kiss and Will can't stop from snapping his head around in time to see Dr Magnus pull back and slap him hard across the face.

He starts to think he ought to intervene when Casanova grabs her by the shoulders roughly. Magnus reaches up and grabs the collar of his coat hard in an effort to shove him away and Will isn't quite sure what happens next but then they're kissing again and Casanova is pulling her close and hugging her tight.

“Here's your change sir,” the barista says in that disinterested voice of someone who works somewhere so achingly hip and when Will hesitates before extending his palm to take the money, tuts before turning away and disappearing around the bar. Will stares at the pastry box in his hand and grips the coffee cup tightly. The contents are hot and his hand twinges uncomfortably while Will chews his lip and considers his next move but when he turns his head again, heaves a sigh of relief to see the sidewalk is empty.

He's kind of dazed as he makes his way back to the car and a little disturbed at how his profiler mind rationalises the little fantasy he invents about Magnus. Of course a woman like that has a lover, he tells himself, how could she not? He's a writer, no, not a writer but an artist. That's how they met, at an exhibition, Will muses, tapping his finger on the steering wheel as he crosses the bridge back into Old City, the shadow of suspension cables flickering across the windscreen. They made chit chat over the canapes, he invited her back to his atelier to see his unfinished works. His box of patisserie sits ignored on the passenger seat and his coffee is cold by the time he gets home.

Later he's unpacking the box and lining up the contents on a shelf in his office when there's a soft knock on his door. He turns to see Magnus giving him that smile and he turns the book over in his hand and rubs his forefinger up the spine.

“The last of your things?” she asks pleasantly, taking a step into the room.

“Hmm yeah, I finally got rid of my apartment so...,” Will hesitates, letting his eyes flick up and down her long, elegant form.

“So....” she says, still smiling. “No turning back. You're mine now Will,” she teases and her lip curls up devilishly and reveals a glimpse of perfect white teeth. Will chuffs out a breath of laughter but its more out of nervousness than amusement although if Magnus realises she doesn't give any indication of it. “Right, well I'll see you at dinner then.”

“Sure,” he replies. “Dinner.” Will watches as she turns and slips away down the hall, his eyes glued to her figure as she walks. When she disappears around a corner he keeps staring down the hall and through the wide bay window at the other end, the blurry lights of New City in the distance.

Hurrah for Sanctuary Bingo!

querulouspeg — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 15:50:49 GMT

Title: Fire & Ice
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side, but nothing severe.
Warnings: Some violence of a slightly sexual nature.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Helen has an unexpected visitor.
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt 'Whump: Broken Heart'. I hope it qualifies as the whump is really really minor - I may be stretching the definition of whump to the limit. There is a Christmas theme to this story as I was inspired by watching something on tv that involved Victorian Christmas. I wasn't expecting the story to turn out the way it has but I think it just covers the prompt.

If Helen had bothered to look she would have noticed the gentle snow drifting past the window of her bedroom but she was too busy filling her trunk to notice, caught up with the excitement of heading home for Christmas. She loved Oxford with a passion but there was something about this time of year that made one long for the comfort of home, the familiar faces of the London house and, although Helen would never admit such feminine folly to her fellows, the Christmas shopping. Besides, it had been snowing on and off for days and the novelty had started to wear off, morphing instead to irritation as her skirts were invariably soaked and her boots slipped on the slush covering the footpaths. She huffed a sigh as she folded her clothes into her case and longed for the time when she might be permitted to wear trousers or some other equally practical attire.

Deep in thought she did not notice the first dull thump against the window, turning instead to organise a great sheaf of papers that leaned haphazardly on top of a small table in front of the fire. At the second thud, she raised her head and stared into the flames burning in the hearth and when there was only a protracted silence, returned her attention to the task at hand. Another, louder thud a few minutes later most definitely caught her attention and she stopped what she was doing and turned to look around the room. A rat perhaps, she thought walking over to the desk as the sound repeated. She hoisted a shoe in the air and looked around the room with narrowed eyes in search of the wretched creature, gripping her skirt in her other hand so that she would be prepared to pounce when it finally showed its face. Slowly she circled the room, hoisting the valance on her bed and cautiously peering into the dark space underneath but there was still no sign of the beast. With a sigh of resignation she dropped the valance and straightened up, turning slowly away from the bed to be greeted by pale face leering at her through her bedroom window. Helen screamed.

“John!” she chastised, yanking open the window unceremoniously. “What on earth are you doing? You frightened the life out of me!” He grinned at her in amusement for a second before shivering fiercely.

“I can no longer feel my feet, I am sure I shall fall at any moment if you leave me out here!” John uttered breathlessly. Helen could not resist his pitiful plea, clutching at his coat and pulling him forward over the window ledge as his legs scrabbled against the climbing ivy outside. The window was somewhat narrow and despite being very slim, John still had to twist awkwardly to get through. The snow on the ledge was melting where his gloves were pressed into it and when he bent his knee to push against it, he slipped and collapsed into Helen's open arms. She let out an oof of surprise as she tumbled backward, still gripping onto his coat and pulling him down with her to land in a sprawling mass of limbs on the carpet.

“Oh my,” Helen chuffed as she peered up at him and John chuckled wickedly before pressing his lips to hers in an opportunistic kiss. “John, you cad! Let me up at once!” Helen cried, squirming away from under him.

“Forgive me, my love. I am not myself,” John replied meekly, leaning back on his knees and pulling her to a sitting position. “I fear I have contracted some manner of brain fever from too long outside.” Helen smiled at him somewhat dreamily despite herself as he took her hand and kissed the back of it tenderly.

“Your hands are like ice, John,” she said in a concerned tone. He chuckled.

“I must have been there ten minutes, I think perhaps you need your hearing tested,” he teased, sticking his frigid finger into her ear. Helen gasped in surprise and twisted away from him as he laughed.

“Brain fever indeed,” she chided. “Only you would be so melodramatic John Druitt!”

“It was worth it to see you,” he told her earnestly, swaying slightly closer and Helen longed for him to kiss her again but she stilled him with a gentle touch to the shoulder. John licked his lips and hesitated for a before leaning back on his haunches and pushing himself up to stand. He pulled her up beside him and they stood for minute a gazing at one another tenderly. Silently, Helen took his hand and lead him closer to the fire. He allowed her to peel his damp coat from his shoulders and hang it over the back of the armchair before guiding him to sit.

“That's better,” Helen crooned in a quiet voice and John hummed as she began to pull his gloves from his hands, rubbing his chilly fingers between her palms to warm them up.

“I could not bear to let you go away without saying goodbye,” John intoned sadly and Helen smiled at him fondly, stroking her hand across the fuzz of his sideburn. “Promise you will write to me every day,” he breathed and Helen smiled lazily.

“I think you should grow rather tired of my letters,” she said playfully. John shook his head fiercely and kissed her palm.

“Never,” he promised and wrapped his arms around her waist as she chuckled mildly. “Come here,” he whispered and Helen shook her head but let him pull her onto his lap anyway. She turned her face away as he stroked his palm across her cheek and buried his fingers in her hair. “Helen,” he murmured quietly, craning his neck to catch her lips but she twisted her head away again.

“Your hands are freezing,” she complained but John would have none of it. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and pulled her close against him.

“Kiss me,” he begged and pressed her against the side of the chair with his lips. Helen whimpered and squirmed for a minute until she could resist him no longer. She melted into his embrace and kissed him back, her palm pressed against his chest. John sucked on her lips hungrily and Helen slipped her hand up to stroke across his neck, sighing against his mouth. The kiss grew more heated, the touches more frenzied until Helen pulled back, gasping for breath.

“John,” she murmured as he brushed his lips against her neck, his hand stroking across her shoulder and squeezing firmly.

“My darling,” he hummed against her skin and Helen's eyes fell closed as he began to caress her arm, across her waist until his palm closed around her breast.

“John, we mustn't....” she uttered but before she could protest any further he kissed her again, turning to press her against the back of the chair. He sank to his knees and pulled her down across the cushions, leaning across her to claim her lips in another kiss.

“Helen,” he rasped as his hands wandered and she writhed beneath him, twisting her head from side to side. “I think I shall die!”

“John, please stop,” Helen choked and John sat back on his knees, pulling her towards him to sit on his lap in front of the fire.

“Why?” he croaked, his breath tickling her ear and his voice hoarse and desperate. Helen met his stricken look and sighed, stroking his face with her fingertips before laying her head on his shoulder.

“I don't want to have a child, yet, John,” she answered tiredly and he exhaled slowly through his nose, cupping the back of her head.

“You know I would marry you in a heartbeat if you would have me, Helen,” he told her as he buried his nose in her hair.

“Oh, John,” she answered, exasperated. “We discussed this.” He huffed and Helen felt him stiffen as he turned his head to stare across the room with a brooding expression. “Come now, don't be like this!”

“How can I be otherwise Helen?” he snapped and Helen scowled, pushing on his chest and rising from the floor.

“Why must you spoil our last evening together?” John clenched his jaw as she walked away to stand beside her desk.

“Forgive me for being a little sore at your constant rejection,” he spat bitterly and Helen whirled to face him.

“If you think I am going to be seduced by means of this....blackmail, you can think again, John Druitt,” she growled and John gaped at her.

“Blackmail!” he cried and Helen shook her head at him, a cynical look spreading across her face.

“You know my feelings about marriage! You know I intend to practise, how can you ask me give that up?” John shook his head vehemently, rising to his feet and stalking across to stand before her.

“I have not asked you for anything that you would not willingly give!” he told her angrily. “Did I not promise you that I would allow you to do as you pleased, even after we were married? What other man would allow you such liberties?” Helen shoved his arms away as his hand came up to clutch her shoulders but he held her tightly.

“Do not speak to me of liberties!” she snarled, pushing against him hard so that he staggered back a way. John clutched at her wrists, pulling her across the floor with him and Helen screwed her face up and smacked him hard on the chest. “Unhand me!”

“How can you be so cold?” he sobbed, pulling her close. “Have you no pity? Do you care for me at all?” Helen shook her head, tears pricking her eyes as she turned her face away from him but John was insistent, burying his hands in her hair. Helen dug her nails into his skin through his shirt and struggled, pushing hard on his chest and staggering back a step. When John attempted to pull her close once again she clenched her jaw, rage bubbling up within her and she raised her hand and slapped her palm hard across his cheek.

John swayed under the blow and teetered back a step. Pressing one hand to his stinging cheek he stared at her aghast for a moment, the hurt evident in his eyes. Helen stood with clenched fists, her chest heaving with hard panting breaths as she glared at him furiously.

“Helen....” John began, his voice constricted with sorrow and regret. “Helen I....” He took a step closer but Helen stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. The room was silent but for the ticking of a carriage clock across the room.

“I think you should leave,” Helen said after a while.

“Helen....darling,” he breathed again but Helen would not meet his eyes, turning her head to the side to stare into the fire. John gazed at her profile with sad eyes, unable to miss the hard clench of her jaw. “Please...” he tried again and took a step towards her.

“Don't!” she rasped, through gritted teeth. “Just.....go.” John stood frozen, his hands falling to his sides and he felt a wave of despair wash through him.

Helen did not raise her head as he made his way towards the door, staring instead at the carpet as though it were the most compelling thing she had ever seen but when she heard the click of the lock as the door closed behind him, she lifted her chin stared mournfully at the space where he had been.

Sam and Baal and whumping

querulouspeg — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 17:29:45 GMT

Title: none
Fandom: SG1
Rating: Um...better go with Adult but it's not that bad
Warnings: Whump and meanness and TORTURE
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Well the story was going to be an Alternate Universe for Avenger 2.0 but you don't really see anything of that episode in this scene.
Summary: Sam is Baal's prisoner, whump ensues. FYI Sam has already been knocked about a bit by one of Baal's minions by the time he finally gets his hands on her.
Author's Notes: Snippet from the Summer of Stargate fic that never was. I couldn't complete due to real life commitments and the story didn't cohere anyway but I quite liked this scene so thought I would share.

Sam stared at the door despairingly as it drew slowly closed and came to a stop with a loud thud. In the silence that followed you could have heard a pin drop. Her breath seemed very loud in her own ears and she swallowed nervously at the cold trickle of sweat that ran down her neck. She could feel Baal's eyes on her and when she eventually summoned the courage to turn her head and meet his eyes, her heart seemed to stop beating for a second.

He stood at the foot of the dais with his arms wrapped around his body regarding her with a dark expression. Energy seemed to radiate from him, simmering just beneath the cool exterior he presented. He seemed impossibly tall at that moment and Sam felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. As she stared back at his face his expression seemed to morph from irritation to puzzlement and his head tilted almost imperceptibly to one side, his hands shifting their grip on his gown. He turned suddenly and walked across the room to a table that was wedged into a darkened recess in the wall. Sam licked her lips at the sound of liquid pouring and when Baal turned around again he held a goblet in his hand.

“You must be thirsty,” he stated in neutral tone and Sam tensed as he stepped towards her. Stopping a foot away from her he took a loud sip and a wry smile spread across his face. Sam took shuddering breaths to quell the trembling of her limbs and could not help but flinch as a moment later he held his arm out and poured the contents of the goblet over her head. She dropped her chin defensively and stared at the tips of his boots just visible beneath the hem of his black robe as the cold liquid ran down her forehead and into her eyes. Baal chuckled.

When he slowly lowered himself to squat beside her she met his eyes with a fierce stare, tiny rivulets of water trickling down her nose and dripping from her chin onto the door. Baal smiled in amusement and twiddled the empty cup in his fingers. “Is that better? Hmm,” Baal murmured, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her face and a second later he reached forward and dug his fingers into her short hair. Sam gasped as he pulled her head back, looking up at him with wide blue eyes as he leaned close. She felt his breath on her cheek and cried out as a moment later he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. She clutched instinctively at his coat to get some leverage, her legs seemingly unable to support her weight. Baal's hand released its grip on her hair and he wrapped his fingers around her her neck instead. Sam squirmed and tried to claw at his face and he laughed darkly, reaching up to wrap a large hand around her wrists, the empty cup clattering to ground and rolling away into the shadows.

“Still so spirited,” he commented with a grim smile. “I am impressed. I shall have to be especially inventive with you, I can tell.” Sam twisted her body with all the strength she could muster but it was futile. Baal released his grip on her wrists and slipped his hand around her throat, squeezing hard as he lifted her off the ground by the neck. She choked under his vice like grip, her eyes bulging and her legs kicking madly. She struck him square in the gut with her knee and his brows furrowed a little but he did not release her, merely held her a little further away from his body and squeezed harder around her throat. “You will submit,” he threatened but then that grim smile returned. “Although not too soon I hope. I shall enjoy bending you to my will.” Her head swam and her vision went blurry and when her eyes rolled back in her head, Baal released his grip and she slumped to the floor gasping for breath.

Baal turned away from her and she stared at the floor beneath her, her vision speckled with black spots and gasping for breath. When she raised her head, he had removed his heavy robe and stood in black pants and shirt, examining something on a table against the wall. He turned to face her and in his hands he held her gun, turning it over slowly before putting his finger in the trigger and pointing it to the ceiling. Sam flinched as he fired off a few rounds, the sound of gunfire echoing around the room. The bullets ricocheted around the room and clattered to the floor somewhere behind her. Baal wrinkled his nose before turning and placing it back down on the table. A moment later he stepped towards her holding her GDO in his hand.

“What is the purpose of this device?” he drawled, holding it out so that it as level with her eyes. Sam licked her lips and stared at it and when she did not answer, Baal slammed it hard against the side of her head. She keeled over with a cry, blood running from a deep gash on her cheek. She rested on her arms, panting hard and blood trickled down her chin to pool on the floor before her. “This device transmits a code that lowers the shield blocking Earth's Stargate,” he told her sagely and she peered up at him through her lashes. “What is it?”

She did not reply and so he pulled her roughly upright, twisting her arm painfully. Sam grit her teeth against the pain. “It doesn't matter. When I didn't report back at the designated time, the code was locked out,” she managed, gasping at the agony in her arm. Baal released her with a sigh of disgust and stalked back towards the table.

He placed the GDO down and picked up instead a long knife before he turned to face her once again. He tapped the blade into his palm as he stepped closer, the metal clanking against the ribbon device he wore. Bile rose up in the back of her throat and Sam thought she might have vomited if there had been anything in her stomach. Baal stopped in front of her and she found herself once again hauled to her feet. He looked her up and down again and his breath tickled her ear. He spun her around and pressed her down hard against the table. Sam gasped in shock and froze as she felt the cold edge of the blade in his hand slip across her cheek.

Baal hummed, a low sound in his throat and slid the blade down down across her throat and over the tattered remnants of her shirt. She trembled in his arms as he tugged on it, pulling it taut and slicing the blade through the black fabric. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard as he pulled it away from her body, the arms of the shirt twisting around her elbows before it came away with a loud tearing sound.

Pulling her upright again he let his eyes roam across her body, pressing the flat of the blade across her bra.“This is...interesting,” he commented and before moving the knife down across her quivering stomach. He shoved the edge of the blade under the waist of her pants and with a hard tug, cut through her belt. Summoning all her strength, Sam kicked out at him hard and he staggered back a little. Twisting sideways, she yelped as Baal shoved her to the ground, wincing as her knees smacked against the hard floor. She scrabbled across the floor to get away from him but her pants bunched at her ankles, tangling around her boots. Baal stepped towards her and he reached down to grab her ankle, yanking it upward so that her forehead cracked hard against the floor. With a grunt he hoisted her up and slammed her hard down against the table once more. Her cheek pressed on the cold surface and her vision blurred.

“Your determination is amusing but utterly futile,” he crooned and she trembled uncontrollably as he clutched her foot in his hand and lazily cut through the laces of her boots. Sam closed her eyes and wished he'd shoved her harder so that she could pass out and not have to endure his wandering hands. He seemed intrigued by her underwear spent a while rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger before finally it too was subject to the knife and cast aside to join the rest of her clothes in a heap on the floor.

Sam took a shuddering breath and tried to imagine she was somewhere else but was shocked back to reality when she felt more cold water splashing on her face. When she opened her eyes, he smiled at her, the empty jug hanging loosely in his fingers. He had barely done more than knock her about a little and remove her clothing and already Sam wanted to die, not that death would be much of an escape. She knew full well that he would resurrect her over and over until she told him what it was he wanted to hear, whatever that might be.

“Wha.....what do you want?” she murmured, her eyelids drooping, oblivion threatening to overcome her.

“Why did you come here?” he asked in a low voice but Sam struggled to reply around the ever present lump in her throat.

“I don't know,” she slurred eventually and Baal sighed heavily. She felt a warm palm slide down her back and stroke over her hip and he hummed. It was a strange sound, as strange as the gentle rubbing of his thumb on the back of her neck but then it was gone and he was pulling her back hard against his body and spinning her about, dumping her on the floor once more.

Despite the bone deep ache in her legs, Sam pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled a few steps across the floor away from where Baal stood behind her digging around in the drawers on the table. A moment later she heard the hiss of electricity behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder, sliding backwards on her bare ass away from him. Baal was watching her with the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, a pain stick hanging loosely from his fingers. Sam gulped and met his eyes. He stepped towards her slowly, raising the pain stick out in front of him and making it pulse. The tip glowed orange, static crackled in her ears and Sam pulled her legs up tight against her body as her back pressed into a corner.

“Tell me what you were doing with the gate?” Baal asked as he moved closer, his eyes seeming to focus on the glowing tip of the pain stick in his hand. Sam gasped for breath, the anticipation of pain making her stomach twist sickeningly and a feeling of nausea overwhelmed her. Baal stepped closer still and towered above her, the planes of his face shadowed as he peered down. When she did not reply he touched the pain stick to her arm and a hard jolt of electricity shuddered through her. Her arm twitched of its own accord and she felt herself shoved hard against the wall behind, a yelp of pain escaping her. A second later and Baal prodded her with it again, on the hip and she coiled up like a bug as pain surged through her like the snapping of a rubber band. She trembled uncontrollably as he spoke.

“This device has four settings. This is the lowest.” He shocked her again on the shoulder and the force made her head snap back and her skull cracked into the wall. By now she was mewling pathetically, her body felt like it was on fire. “We need not get to the highest setting, tauri, if you will tell me what I wish to know.” She managed to look up through her lashes to see him adjusting a button on the side of the pain stick and closed her eyes tight as he lowered it again and held it against her skin.

The glowing tip burned with latent energy as he held it against her and Baal tilted his head to one sighed, quirking his brow at her questioningly. Sam thought of Jack, of Daniel and Teal'c and the others and clenching her jaw, remained silent. Baal shook his head and heaved a sigh before activating the pain stick once more. This time, Sam screamed. Her body convulsed violently and her back arched before she fell face first onto the floor. Through her lashes she could see Baal's feet level with her eyes and was aware of the smell of burning hair.

Above her, Baal heaved a sigh of displeasure and dropped the pain stick to the floor. It clattered to the ground and the sound made her ears twinge. He turned and walked across the room towards the table opposite and Sam licked her lips, raising her head and tentatively reaching her hand out towards the pain stick where it lay beside her. She heaved a huge breath and despite the agony that coursed through her limbs, pushed up on shaking arms. Sam swayed a little as she feebly hefted the pain stick. It seemed impossibly heavy and the tip smacked down hard against the floor, the sound echoing around the room. Baal turned to see her pathetic attempt to wield the pain stick and tilted his head to one side. His mouth turned up at the corners as he regarded her with amusement, stepping slowly towards her. Sam summoned all her strength as he approached and attempted to shock him with it but he batted it away and it fell from her hands. She slumped forward against his knee and prepared herself for the inevitable blow but it did not come. She found herself instead hoisted up and swung like a rag doll over his shoulder. The blood rushed to her head and before she passed out, she thought his shoulder was somehow more bony than she expected.

Sanctuary Bingo! My first effort!

querulouspeg — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 21:03:39 GMT

Title: Suitcases
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Drabble. James drives Helen to the airport.
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt 'Suitcases'.

It was a bright April afternoon in London and the sun was shining. The sky was blue but the wind was brisk and cool, carrying fluffy white clouds across the sky like leaves on the surface of a fast flowing stream. They had played that game once, Helen and he, standing on an old wooden bridge in Oxford where the Cherwell river joined the Thames and throwing stick after stick into the babbling water below while they talked about nothing of consequence. They had gone for a long walk in the woods and though their friendship in those days was nothing but innocent, there had been something of a scandal when he escorted her to the door of her college with leaves in her hair. It was not seemly for a lady to walk unescorted with a gentleman even though the most improper thing they had done that day was hold hands as he helped Helen over a gate as they cut across a field instead of following the long path all the way back into town.

Of course, things had become decidedly improper between them in the years since that afternoon in Oxford. Half a century of unmarried cohabitation had naturally elicited more than a few raised eyebrows and disapproving looks across the table at formal receptions and other such events. Helen was so wealthy that she didn't give a monkey's for any of it. Of course, being so wealthy, she didn't have to and it was that fact alone that had assuaged his family's respectable bourgeois outrage at their living situation. It had remained a mystery to his mother why they did not marry until the day she died and on consideration, it was a mystery to him too but he supposed that was why they were where they were now.

James did not turn to look when he heard Helen's heels on the tile behind him, his eyes focussed instead on the building site across the street. It had been a beautiful Georgian terrace but it was nothing more than a pile of rubble now, the bomb damage so severe the owners had sold the land to the government and moved on.

“Did you ever find out what they're doing with it?” Helen asked. James chewed on his lower lip and took a deep breath in and let it out a moment later with a slow, defeated sigh.

“No,” he replied eventually. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be dreadful. You've seen what they're doing on the South Bank. All that hideous concrete, it's heartbreaking really.”

“Hmm,” was Helen's only reply but her tone told him enough. James turned to see her staring at her shoes, the last of her suitcases on the floor beside her. He swallowed hard around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

“Well then,” he said a minute later, plastering a smile he did not feel onto his face and stepping towards her. “I suppose we'd better be off. You have a plane to catch.” His tone was so upbeat as to be saccharine and they both tried to pretend Helen's grimace was actually a smile.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she murmured, raising her chin and looking him right in the eye.

“Right oh,” James replied, his expression similarly pained. Helen looked away and he coughed ever so slightly before stepping forward and lifting her cases from the floor.

“Let me take one,” she protested but he was having none of it and valiantly struggled towards the door. Helen trotted ahead, her heels click clacking on the polished tile and the hinges on the old oak door groaning loudly as she pulled it open. James waddled though and trundled down the steps to load her baggage into the back of the car. The lock on the trunk crunched loudly as he slammed it shut and when he raised his head he saw Helen watching him with sad eyes from the top of the steps.

“Ready then?” he asked, hoisting the passenger door open. She pursed her lips, her long dark hair blowing across her eyes in the chilly breeze.

“Hmm mmm,” she chirped non-committally and averted her eyes as she stepped towards him. James rubbed his palm over his face as he closed the door behind her, sniffing loudly as he walked around to the driver's side.

“James,” Helen said softly as he slotted the key into the ignition. He stared though the windscreen at the gravel on the drive.

“James, I....” Helen tried again and when he looked up, her mouth was slightly open as though she had meant to say something more but her lip trembled and she said nothing.

“It's alright, Helen,” he said and held her gaze for a moment with a sad, soft smile on his face. Helen smiled back as he started the engine. James looked ahead as they rolled down towards the gates and turned into the street and when he glanced back at her a moment later, could not help but notice how she watched the diminishing reflection of the old house in the side mirror until they turned a corner and it disappeared from sight.

Vampire goodness......

querulouspeg — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 23:15:42 GMT

Title: A Peculiar Vintage
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: ADULT.
Warnings: Vampires. Biting. Dubious Consent. Paternal disapproval. Spelling errors.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Erm....nothing in particular.
Summary: Why DOES John loathe Nikola so much?
Author's Notes: For my darling death_ofme. I haven't written anything for ages so I had a lovely time with this wee thing. Let me know what you think! Smooch.

Helen blinked and came around to the murmur of voices, the panels on the ceiling above her bed slowly coming into focus as the dim light of the fireplace flickered around the room. She tried to push herself up onto her elbows but when she did her head swam, a dull ache in her cranium like the hangover from a migraine.

“Helen, goodness don't try to sit up,” James' voice uttered in an anxious tone and she turned to see him crossing the floor towards her with a concerned look painted across his face. He was at her side a moment later, his hand pushing gently on her shoulder and she found herself pressed back into the pillow behind her. Her father moved to stand on the other side of the bed and the two men exchanged concerned looks as she peered up at them.

“How do you feel?” her father asked gently, stroking away a curl of hair that had stuck to her brow.

“I feel....” she croaked, pausing to consider for a moment that although she felt a bit dizzy there was a not entirely unpleasant ache buzzing through her limbs, the kind of ache that she would normally associate with... “Where's John?” she asked, pushing herself up and leaning back against the head of the bed.

“I'm here,” a familiar baritone rumbled and she turned to see a harried looking John appear in the doorway of her bedroom. “Helen, darling...” he gasped and was at her side in an instant, pushing past James to sit on the bed beside her and clasping her hand tightly between his own. James averted his eyes although if he was embarrassed by the impropriety of the situation he made no comment.

“As much as I enjoy the attention, I would be much obliged if someone would tell me what has happened that might warrant my having three gentleman in my bedroom at...” Helen paused to glance at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, squinting as she tried to focus on the tiny hands and feeling unaccountably dizzy as a result. “Oh my,” she breathed, slouching back a way.

John dropped his gaze to her hands and James coughed slightly. An awkward moment passed before her father began to speak.

“Do you have any memory of last night?” he asked gently although there was an odd undercurrent of something in his tone that she could not quite place. Helen stared at the hearth as she considered it.

“I....the five of us were in the salon after dinner,” she recalled.

“Yes,” John said gently, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand.

“We had guinea fowl, for Nigel's birthday and afterwards we went into the salon and James, you played the piano. We were teasing Nikola because he wouldn't sing and you and he spent a good deal of the evening arguing over the wine,” she told John who licked his lips and nodded. “Then you took Nigel home and Nikola and I went to get more wine from the cellar and....”

She fell silent when she noticed the clench of John's jaw. James and Gregory exchanged a dark look and then Helen remembered. The cool air of the wine cellar, the musty smell of damp and Nikola's eyes black in the light from the gas lamp outside.

“Oh my, Nikola....” Helen gasped and her head swam.

“He can't hurt you now, my love” John told her and she met his eyes, the glimmer of bitterness in them unmistakeable even as his voice was gentle.

“What happened? Where is he?” she gasped, her mind swirling with shame and something else she did not want to acknowledge.

“We have secured him in one of the cells under the house,” Gregory told her, moving closer and pushing John aside. Reluctantly John relinquished his hold on her hand as her father took her wrist and felt for a pulse.

“The cells? What on earth?” Helen cried in horror at the mere thought.

“Your friend Mr Griffin is keeping watch on him for now,” Gregory continued, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. Helen stared at her Father agog but when he did not elaborate turned instead to John. John clenched his jaw and would not meet her eyes so she glared intently at James.

“What happened? James, tell me!” she said in commanding tone that brooked no argument.

“Ah,” James began a moment later with a cough. “You were unconscious when we found you,” he told her after an awkward pause. “When you did not come back from the cellar John and I came to look for you and...”

“And?” Helen demanded, glancing between the two men as they would not meet her eyes.

“I want you to know Helen, you were in no way responsible for the actions of that...villainous, despicable monster!” John rasped through gritted teeth, moving to sit beside her and cup her face in his hand.

“I should never have left you alone with him, the damnable fiend!” James uttered, pressing his hand to his forehead and rubbing his temples anxiously.

Helen stared at him aghast, unable to form a coherent sentence as the memory of what happened began to surface. “Dear Lord,” she breathed.

“His mania seems to have subsided for now,” Gregory told her sagely, although he would not look at her as he spoke. “It would seem that exposure to the source blood has revealed some aspects of Mr Tesla's physiology that have hitherto lain dormant...”

Helen paled as he spoke, the realisation that their little experiment had been discovered by the one person she had least wanted to know. “Father,” she began but Gregory cut her off.

“Indeed the mania, while severe was not quite as intense as I would have expected from...” Gregory turned away and leaned heavily on his cane as he spoke.

“A vampire,” she murmured, staring at the pattern on the bedspread, guilt and shame washing over her at the tone of disappointment in her father's voice.

“Drink this,” James urged, leaning across the bed and proffering a glass. “It's full of iron.” John took it from him and held it to her lips.

“Huh...mmm,” she mumbled, swallowing a little of it and grimacing at the sour taste of stout. “Father...” she continued, batting John's hand away.

“No not quite Helen,” Gregory told her. “I believe he possesses some vampiric heritage and that when exposed to the source blood, it triggered some kind of...awakening but as you well know, Helen, true Sanguine Vampiris has been extinct for generations.”

“Father,” Helen said again but Gregory would not meet her eyes.

“Now is not the time Helen,” he told her, stepping back and gesturing towards the door. “It has been an...eventful night and you need rest. We can discuss this later. Gentlemen, if you please,” he said, looking at James and John. John gazed at her for a long moment before pressing a kiss to her hand and rising from the bed.

“Rest now, my darling,” he told her and Helen slouched down amid the pillows as she watched them shuffle out of the room. When she was alone she became aware of an ache in her shoulder and slid her fingers under the collar of her nightgown. The skin felt raised and when she touched it, it twinged painfully. Screwing her face up, she shoved the fabric aside. In the dim light she could see the beginnings of a rather spectacular bruise forming on her pale skin and as she peered more closely her mouth went dry when the imprint of teeth became suddenly, sickeningly clear.

Earlier that evening....

“..a stick in me hand and a tear in me eeeeeeeyyyye” John screeched, his big hands banging the keys on the piano dissonantly as he sang. Helen chewed her fist in an attempt to stifle the laughter that threatened to overwhelm her. “And a doleful daaamsel I had cried....”

Nikola scowled and shared a pained look with James and as John broke into a particularly tuneless chorus, unceremoniously slammed the lid of the piano down on his hands.

“OUCH! Bloody hell, you miserable old fart! What was that for?” John groused, rubbing his knuckles.

“I could not bear for the neighbourhood cats to go on thinking that one of their number was being murdered,” Nikola told him sourly. James sidled up beside him and with a smirk, shoved John off the stool and planted himself in front of the piano instead.

“Oh dear John,” Helen said, a tear escaping her eye and he moved to seat himself on the couch beside her. “Well I thought it was a valiant effort, although perhaps the world is not quite ready for your... singular talent” she told him. He smiled at her fondly as they pressed close together on the seat.

“Remind me never to refuse a lady's demands, won't you Tesla,” James told Nikola who was leaning against the mantelpiece sipping the contents of his wine glass.

“If it will spare us Johnny's unbearable caterwauling,” Nikola drawled, regarding the couple on the couch with some measure of distaste as James began to play.

“I am gratified to hear you say that James,” Helen told them, batting John's hands away and sitting forward to reach for her drink.

“We're out of wine,” Nigel drawled from his spot slouched low in an armchair across the room. His cheeks were bright red and his expression stupefied from an excess of drink, the boys having taken him to a tavern before they had arrived for dinner and the effect being that he was now steaming, half cut, three sheets to the wind drunk. Nikola sloped across the room and set his glass down on the table before pouring his friend a glass of soda water from a seltzogene on the sideboard.

“Soda!” Nigel protested when Nikola presented him with the glass.

“I put vodka in it, I assure you,” Nikola lied giving Helen a sly wink as Nigel happily took the glass from him and began to drink.

“Bloody liar,” he muttered a moment later, thrusting his arm out and slopping the contents on the carpet.

“Mind out, you blithering idiot,” John scolded as the glass fell out his hand and dropped to the floor with a thud.

“Oh dear,” Helen commented rising from her seat as Nikola tutted and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Humans,” Nikola muttered under his breath. Helen huffed a tiny breath out of her nose and shook her head at him.

“I want wine!” Nigel burbled, sitting forward in the seat and swaying. “It is my birthday!”

“I think you have had enough old man,” John scolded rising from his seat and moving to stand behind Helen as she stooped to help Nikola.

“Don't do church work Nikola,” Helen told him, stilling his movements by placing her hand atop his. “It is only a drop of water.” John glowered down at them, his eyes glued to where their hands were joined and Nikola glared back hatefully as Helen, oblivious, plucked the glass from the floor and rose to her feet.

“Perhaps you ought to put him to bed John,” James told them sagely from his position behind the piano and Nigel's face screwed up.

“I am not going to bed,” he protested as John hoisted him from his chair.

“Of course not, old man,” John assured him. “I thought we might go and get that single malt your Father gave you.”

“Oh stellar idea, Johnny,” Nigel slurred with a grin, leaning heavily into his friend's arms and John winked conspiratorially at Helen before there was a whoosh of static and the pair disappeared from sight.

Helen placed the now empty glass on the table and turned back to Nikola with a slight smile. “Thank you Nikola,” she told him and he smiled back fondly.

“Bitte sehr,” he replied and Helen chuckled.

“Sing something Nikola,” she asked in a pleading tone. “You have a lovely voice. Doesn't he James?”

“I have heard worse,” James replied somewhat disinterestedly, swaying from side to side as he played the piano. “Find me something to smoke would you Helen?” Helen rolled her eyes and Nikola watched as she rummaged around in the corner for a cigar.

“Mmm...sankyoo...” James mumbled as she stuffed the end of the cigar in his mouth and struck a match. James craned his neck and grinned at her and Helen smiled sweetly back. Nikola tried to ignore the affectionate way she squeezed James' arm, deciding to focus on the empty wine bottle on the table instead of how her hand lingered on his shoulder.

“I think I ought to choose next time,” he said, eyeing the label with distaste. “Whoever chose this filth ought to be strung up by his testes.”

“John bought it,” James commented idly, the cigar clenched between his teeth and Nikola raised a brow.

“Well that explains a lot,” he drawled, setting the empty bottle down and James rolled his eyes.

“If I let you have free reign of the wine cellar Nikola, will you sing?” Helen asked and James grinned.

“Ever the opportunist,” Nikola chided mildly as she stepped closer. Helen tilted her head to one side.

“Actually I think it is quite a fair bargain,” she replied teasingly. Nikola regarded her through slitted eyes for a minute but as she smiled at him mischievously found himself unable to refuse.

“Very well, Miss Magnus,” he said at length. “If you would deign to accompany me?” Helen chuckled.

“We are going to get wine James,” she said stepping towards the door, her gaze never leaving Nikola's. James puffed on his cigar and dismissed them with a wave of his hand, not bothering to raise his eyes from the sheet music in front of him.

The music grew ever quieter as Helen and Nikola moved through the house towards the darkened staircase that lead to the wine cellar, the sound of James' playing giving way to the silence under the house. Helen was aware of the vague sound of a pipe dripping but Nikola was rather more preoccupied with the sound of her heart beating inside her chest. He swallowed and kept close behind her as they moved down the steps and into the dank corridors below. Her perfume lingered in the air between them and Nikola took shallow breaths as he became aware of another more compelling scent beneath the violet and lavender.

Blood.

“Are you alright Nikola?” Helen asked gently as he watched her intently through the racks of bottles that stood between them.

“Quite well, I assure you” he replied although his voice seemed rather odd and distant to her.

“Hmm,” Helen coughed. “We can take anything from these here but please don't touch those over there. My father would really not be best pleased,” she told him, her skirts shuffling as she disappeared around a corner. “Nikola?” she queried a moment later, straightening up from her perusal of the bottles in front of her.

“Helen.” She startled at the sound of his voice so close behind her and turned to meet his intense gaze.

“Have you decided which one you'd like?” she asked quietly, a strange feeling taking up residence in her stomach as he moved closer.

“What would you recommend?” Nikola asked, a slight smile playing on his lips and causing his moustache to quirk amusingly. Helen chuffed a breath of laughter and smiled.

“I thought you were our resident sommelier?” she replied and his smile grew wider.

“I am gratified that you at least, recognise this one of my many talents,” Nikola told her, reaching past her shoulder to pluck a bottle from the rack behind her. “Hmm, this looks interesting,” he commented, examining the label.

“Can you read it? It is very dark in here,” Helen stated, peering up at the grate of a small window in the wall above them, the only light among the racks the weak glow from a gas lamp in the street outside. Nikola chuckled.

“Vampire senses,” he told her with a grin. “I can see as clearly in this room as though it were the middle of a summer's day.” Helen smiled and became suddenly very aware of the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Nikola's nostrils flared and her mouth went dry as the realisation dawned on her that he could probably hear it too. She swallowed hard and Nikola swayed imperceptibly closer.

“People give off a certain....scent when they are afraid Helen,” he told her and she opened her mouth to reply but no sound came out. He smiled. “You are being perfectly ridiculous, I would never hurt you,” he said, looking her right in the eye.

“I...I think you seem to be handling it all rather well Nikola,” she said, her lips quirking up in a nervous smile. “Well, aside from those first few...misadventures.”

“Hmmm,” Nikola answered, his expression thoughtful. “Yes I confess, it was rather...overwhelming at first.” He stared at the bottle in his hand and fell silent. Helen chewed her lip and waited for him to continue.

“But now?” she asked, genuinely curious. Nikola took a deep breath in through his nose and stared past her shoulder.

“Now...well I would be lying if I said it does not torment me,” he murmured, his eyes unfocussed. Helen said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. “Your heartbeat, for instance,” he continued. “I can hear it, loud as a ticking clock.” His voice was breathy and when he looked at her, Helen shivered at the black orbs of his eyes.

“Nuh...Nikola,” she stammered in a quiet, trembling voice. He smiled and stared at her mouth.

“Don't be afraid Helen,” he told her, stroking the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

Helen stood stone still and did not flinch even when she saw the long black claws that protruded from his fingertips as he stroked across her jaw and down her neck. She saw his Adam's Apple bob in his throat.

“I...I think perhaps we ought to go back upstairs, Nikola,” Helen managed eventually, her stomach churning. She felt giddy, disoriented but then Nikola smiled and stepped back a little way.

“But we haven't chosen the wine yet!” he said. His voice was light, playful although the look in his eyes was a little more intense than is tone suggested.

“Won't that do?” she said, gesturing with her chin to the bottle in his hand.

“Tsk tsk Helen, you know me better than that surely?” he teased, dumping the bottle unceremoniously back on the rack and gliding elegantly across the floor towards the forbidden wines on the other side of the room.

“Nikola,” she warned and he turned to give her a wicked grin over his shoulder.

“Oh but Helen, oh my,” he sighed, easing a bottle from the rack and pressing it to his cheek as though it were his beloved. “Your father, in spite of his incurable Englishness, does keep a fine cellar,” he told her, tapping his claw on the glass. Helen could not help but smile as she moved closer and peered through the dim light at the dusty label.

“That was a gift from the Royal Society, he'd have my hide if we drank it,” she chastised mildly but this had the effect of making Nikola grin all the more broadly.

“Oh Helen,” he told her with a chuckle. "I think we can consider stealing wine from your father among the least of our sins.”

Helen gaped at his cheekiness but she could not fault his argument. He waggled his brows at her suggestively.

“Oh very well, take it then! But I shall deny all knowledge of it and lay the blame entirely on you!” She could not resist his infectious laughter as he placed his hand on her hip and twirled her around in the narrow space between the stacks.

“That's the spirit, my dear Helen,” he crooned, leaning very close with a mischievous glint in his eye. Helen felt her heart flutter inside her chest as he held her close and that odd, giddy feeling returned.

“Oh...” she breathed, resting her hands on his chest in a feeble attempt to steady herself. She blinked hard and when she met his eyes, found him looking at her again with that strange, dark stare of his.

“Helen,” he uttered once more, breathing hard.

“I...Nikola I feel...unusual....” she stammered, feeling somehow as though she was not quite in control of her own voice.

As she took in his black eyes and long claws, his familiar face contorted by that foreign, vampiric mask Helen could not suppress the shudder that rippled through her. Nikola blinked slowly, his nostrils flared and he smiled at her lazily.

“Fear?” Helen asked in a low voice that was not her own. Nikola's eyes never left her face as he shook his head slowly from side to side.

He leaned forward and his breath tickled her ear as he whispered to her.

“Curiosity,” he breathed. Helen sighed as his hand stroked gently across her shoulder. A voice in her head screamed at her to flee but her limbs felt like lead and she could not move. When his hand moved down across her chest to wrap around her waist, she gasped loudly and the bottle of wine in his hand tumbled forgotten to the floor and smashed into pieces. Helen staggered slightly and the heel of her boot dragged through the dark puddle of wine on the stone, a shard of glass crunching loudly under her foot .

“Nikola,” she gasped, her head spinning as an overwhelming sensation washed through her and he wrapped his arms tightly about her to pull her close against him. “Nikola...I...”

“Helen...” he uttered in that strange grating voice, pressing his nose into her hair as her head lolled to one side. She felt suddenly tired beyond reason and she feebly attempted to clutch at his coat, slumping in his arms. Burying her face in his collar she held on for dear life, her knees seeming unwilling to support her. Her head swam and then Nikola was kissing her intently, his lips at the corner of her mouth and dragging softly across her cheek. He held her firmly and she let out a moan as her head fell back hard against the wooden shelf behind her, Nikola's lips fastening immediately on the long white column of her throat.

“Helen, Helen, Helen,” he chanted, clawed fingers scraping against the back of her neck. She gasped with pleasure as his mouth slipped across the skin exposed by the low cut neckline of her evening gown. Nikola let out a strange growl that sent a hot bolt of arousal through her body and her legs parted as if of their own volition.

Nikola hoisted her up against the wine rack behind and she buried her fingers in his hair as he fumbled with the mass of crepe that was her skirt and petticoat. The fabric of her corset was scratchy and rough against her nipple and Helen released her grip on Nikola's scalp to tug the offending material aside. Nikola growled again and immediately fastened his lips around the exposed nub and Helen moaned loudly at the pleasure of it. Drowsily she let her head fall forward and peered through her lashes to watch as Nikola's mouth moved wetly across her skin from one round breast to the other, the ache between her legs growing more and more intense as clawed fingers scraped agonisingly across the soft skin of her inner thigh.

She shuddered and cried out as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of her underwear to slide into the dark recesses between her legs, one finger seeking out that aching spot and circling over and over until she thought she might go out of her mind. She could feel his arousal hard against her hip as he kissed way slowly back up her chest until his lips fastened on her shoulder and when his teeth sank into her skin, Helen cried out at the unbearable pleasure of it all.

Gasping for air, she was aware of Nikola's breath loud in her ear and the odd sensation of his tongue against her collarbone. Her shoulder ached, feeling at once both very cold and very hot and a feeling like the tide receeding on the shore seemed to spread through her whole body. Her eyelids fluttered and Helen felt irredeemably sleepy and then there were loud voices and a bright light and then nothing.

Later....

Helen clutched the teacup tightly in her fingers and worried the edge of the porcelain with her teeth in a manner that would have provoked the displeasure of her governess in days gone by. She was a grown woman by now and the miserable old dowager had long since been dispatched but at that moment Helen felt she would rather face the ire of that dour old matron rather than the look of disappointment painted across her father's face.

“How is he?” Helen asked in a quiet voice and the old doctor chewed his lip, the floorboards creaking as he stepped into the room. Gregory did not answer straight away, moving instead to stand in front of the fading embers in the hearth. There was a loud snapping sound and a shuffle of ash as the cinders shifted in the grate and collapsed in on themselves.

“I do not believe he poses any danger....for now,” he replied in a sombre tone. Helen nodded and dropped her gaze to his shoes as he moved closer. The pendulum of the grandfather clock thudded ominously down the passage and the house was so still Helen was sure she could hear the mechanism inside tick tick ticking vaguely in the silent hall. John lay sprawled in an armchair outside, his vow to keep vigil by her door having given way to exhaustion.

“But how is he in himself?” Helen asked again, idly rubbing the inside of her wrist. Gregory turned to her with an odd look on his face and pursed his lips.

“Chastened...but not particularly repentant. I think he rather enjoyed himself, although he insists that he is deeply remorseful for his actions.”

“Ah, Nikola,” she murmured, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“You look better,” he uttered tiredly running his gaze over her face before stepping forward to examine the contents of the teapot on the table with disinterest. Helen moved to stand beside him and Gregory looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he poured himself a cup.

“Yes I feel fine,” she stated passively.

“You were very lucky I would say,” Gregory replied, his eyes fixed to the tea as it arced from the end of the spout and into the tiny cup on the table below.

“I...I've been thinking about it actually,” she continued, running her fingers across the carved corner of the table before them. “I'm not sure he intended me any harm.” Gregory raised a brow but said nothing. “I mean...he could have gone for the jugular but he didn't.”

Gregory raised the teacup to his lips and drank, watching her over the rim. He swallowed, grimacing as the tea went down.

“Hmm,” he uttered, looking down into the cup. “Cold.” Helen said nothing as he set down the teacup and stared at some unknown spot on the wall behind her.

“Father,” she began in a doleful voice and Gregory regarded her with cool eyes. “I think I should like to speak to him,” she continued.

“Helen,” the old doctor breathed. “I do not think that is a particularly wise idea.”

“But Father...” Gregory screwed his face up and raised his eyes to the ceiling as she spoke.

“Helen please,” he interrupted. “Just this once, would you heed my counsel?”

She pursed her lips and turned her head to stare at nothing in particular, the grim set of her jaw unmistakeable. Gregory sighed and stepped back towards her. “What you have done, Helen, do you have any idea of the magnitude of your stupidity?” Helen would not meet his eyes and dropped her gaze to her hands, rubbing them together anxiously.

Her lip trembled and Helen clenched her jaw against the regret that welled up within in her. “I...I never wanted to disappoint you Father,” she breathed, a hard lump having taken up residence in her throat and making it hard for her to speak. When she finally found the courage to meet his eyes, her heart constricted at the sorrow she saw there.

“Helen,” he breathed. “How could you? How could you bring strangers into this house and share with them things that were meant only for you and I?”

“Father...I...” she stammered, unable to find her voice. “You must know,” she managed after a minute. “What I did, I did out of a desire for pure scientific enquiry. I never meant to betray your trust.”

Gregory sighed. “Helen, do you have any idea the danger you have put yourself in? Least of your sins is that you betrayed my trust but you may well have also resurrected the most dangerous species of Abnormal ever to exist?”

“But you said Nikola was only part vampire!” she countered, indignant.

“Oh Helen!” he muttered shaking his head and turning to pace in front of the hearth. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke again. “I fear we have yet to see the true consequences of all this,” Gregory said eventually and her mouth went inexplicably dry at the look of fear in his eyes.

When her father had gone, Helen stood staring at the doorway for a long time. After a while she turned slowly and made her way to a seat under the window, propping her chin in her hand and peering through the gap in the curtains at nothing in particular. It would be light soon, she surmised through the dim haze outside, the ever present London smog hanging in the air like a shroud even at this late hour. Idly she rubbed the mark on her shoulder and when she thought of Nikola, locked away on the other side of the house, she ached.

Writing, sorta.

querulouspeg — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 20:53:18 GMT

After a few attempts to start writing my Sam/Baal Summer of Stargate fic, I am finally into the actual story. This....thing is the product of my previous attempts. It just came out of my brain but it is so totally odd and without context that I soon gave it up. It's totally over the top and slightly weird. I just thought I would share.

Title: None
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Rating: ADULT.
Warnings: Sex, violence, weirdness, love slaves, spelling errors, characters behaving OOC.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Nothing really.
Summary: Sam and Baal fighting and being snarky to one another.

For weird Baalishness, step

Sam did not rise from her seat at the familiar thud of boots on the stone floor. The other women scurried about, falling to their knees and kowtowing low as Baal swept into the room in his usual grandiose fashion but Sam remained as always, singularly unimpressed by his arrogant swagger. She slouched back against the cushions on the ornate chaise by the window and nonchalantly flung her arm across the back.

Baal watched from the centre of the room but Sam paid no heed to his loud exhalation of breath. The other slaves shared furtive looks, their concern evident to all but Sam who merely flicked her fingernails together and examined her cuticles.

“My lord, we have prepared your bath,” one of the woman ventured cautiously, rising slightly to gently stroke her hand across his shin. Baal's nostrils flared and he shoved her away with his knee. The woman immediately planted her face on her hands in a show of submission as he stomped angrily towards the window.

“Do you not rise to greet your god?” he snarled angrily. Sam heaved a bored sigh and leaned her chin in her hand, staring out of the window at the garden below. Baal clenched his jaw, seething with anger as he reached forward and grabbed her arm, hauling her bodily out of the chaise. Sam let out a yelp of surprise as she collided with his chest, her palms clutching at his coat as he tugged her hair back and brought his face close to hers. “If you think your insolence is somehow amusing Samantha you are gravely mistaken!” he sneered through clenched teeth.

Sam smiled acidly. “I care nothing for your amusement,” she spat and Baal's eyes glowed as rage coursed through his body. In the blink of an eye Baal's hand collided hard with the side of her face and she fell to the floor, her cheek burning with the force of the blow. A rally of gasps bubbled up from the crouched figures of the other slaves who peered in concern across the floor towards the spectacle. Baal towered over her, his chest heaving and Sam clutched her hand to her face as she glared up at him. Blood ran hotly from the cut on her lip where his ring had struck her. She clawed at the floor with her palm, her legs tangling in the long fabric of her dress as she shuffled back a way but Baal stepped over her and reached down to wrap his hand around her throat. Sam wheezed as he hauled her to her knees before him.

“Yield!” he drawled through clenched teeth but Sam clawed at his hand with her nails instead. “YIELD!” he bellowed and squeezed his hand a little harder around her throat. Sam gasped and choked, her eyes bulging as his hand gripped tighter and tighter. Her arms flailed and she clutched at his coat frantically, her head spinning.

“Muh...muh...” she rasped. Baal eased his grip on her throat and raised his chin haughtily in expectation of her plea. “My lord...” she began, her vision coming back into focus and settling on his face. She ran her hands down his chest and smoothed the fabric of his shirt across his stomach. Baal's sneer morphed into a lazy smile and his shoulders relaxed a little. Sam glimpsed the hilt of his dagger beneath his coat and she licked her lips, exhaling slowly. “My lord,” she uttered again breathily, looking up at him through her lashes and tilting her head ever so slightly to one side in a gesture of submission. Baal's hand slipped down her throat a little way and a second later, Sam slid her hand inside his coat and gripped the dagger in her hand. Summoning all her strength she pulled it free and plunged it hard into the soft flesh of his side.

Baal roared in pain and surprise, his fingers clenching around her throat once more and Sam cried out as she was hoisted from the floor and hurled bodily across the room. She collided hard with a stone pillar. Sam felt her spine crunch as she impacted with the flat edge of the column just before the back of her head cracked against the carved obsidian statue that sat atop it. The ornate statue crashed heavily to the ground and the carved face smashed into the floor, shards of obsidian skittering across the tiles. The room erupted into chaos and Sam was vaguely aware of the screaming and crying as the other slaves began to mill about in panic. Across the room, Baal staggered, his eyes aglow with fury and Sam watched as he reached down and pulled the blade from his side, a spray of blood spraying across the floor as he hurled it away. Her vision swam and everything went dark and second later she slipped into oblivion.

When she awoke some time later her limbs were buzzing with an unnatural energy. She had lost count of the times she had been in the sarcophagus and with each exposure she felt more defiled than if Baal had forced himself upon her. He never had, no, he was too egotistical even for that. He wanted her to give herself to him, to be his willing slave and as Sam stared up at the glyphs in the wall above the bed she wondered how much longer she would be able to resist. With each exposure to the sarcophagus she felt her mind crumble, the memories she clung to gradually being replaced with a maniacal rage that, denied an outlet, she turned in on herself. It was the impulse that drove her to defy Baal with ever increasing frequency and severity, to the point where he had killed her twice but to her endless despair he would not allow her to die.

A shuffle of footsteps broke her reverie and she pushed herself up on the bed to see one of the other girls entering the room. The girl would not meet her eyes and but Sam was beyond feeling guilt for subjecting them all to Baal's ire, the sarcophagus had seen to that. The girl hung her head hung her head low as she spoke.

“Lord Baal commands your presence” she murmured and Sam sighed before dropping her knees over the edge of the bed and rising to her feet. She crossed the room and plucked a robe from the couch against the wall, wrapping it about herself before following the girl out of the room.

The next chamber was thick with smoke and Sam curled her lip in distaste. Between the opaque drapes that hung about she could make out the silhouettes of the other slaves writhing in an orgiastic dance. Naked bodies lay sprawled across the lush carpets and men and women rutted under gaudy statues of bulls, bowls of flame flickering and casting everything in a surreal glow. Sam clenched her jaw, irritated by the sweaty bodies that blocked her path as she crossed the hall into the chamber beyond.

Baal was reclined in a seat with a sour look painted across his face as Sam approached. A nubile slave girl crawled across his lap utterly nude but he shoved her angrily away. The girl whimpered as she fell back onto the floor and glared at Sam in displeasure before scurrying away. Sam raised her chin and quirked a brow at him and Baal leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his leg and planting his chin in his hand.

“Leave us,” he growled and the few fawning acolytes that lurked about shuffled quietly out of the room, bowing low as they closed the tall doors behind them. Baal stared at Sam intently for a moment, heaving a loud sigh as he leaned back in his seat and gripped the armrests firmly in his hands. “I am prepared to show you mercy, if you are prepared to beg me for it,” he said finally.

Sam chewed her lip and considered his proposal. “And if I won't?” Baal regarded her through slitted eyes.

“Why must you test me?” he asked in an exasperated voice.

“Why won't you let me die?” she retorted coldly and Baal tilted his head to the side, bemused.

“Is the thought of being my concubine so repellent to you that you would choose death?” he replied. Sam stared at the floor.

“Why do you keep me here when you know that I hate you?” Baal huffed in irritation.

“Why must we always speak in riddles Samantha?” She raised her chin and met his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but could not find words to reply. Baal rose from his seat and approached her slowly.

“I don't know why you keep me here,” she breathed in a mournful voice and Baal blinked slowly. “I don't know why you don't just take what you want, or why you don't make me a host.”

Baal regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “Why would I give you to another Goa'uld?” he answered eventually.

When fluff turns to porn.

querulouspeg — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 06:10:42 GMT

Title: My Darling Darjeeling.
Rating: Most definitely ADULT.
Warnings: Sexy sex sex sex.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Between 'For King and Country' and 'Normandy' in terms of chronology.
Summary: Helen/James porn

So yes, the porn fairy sprinkled her magic dust on Helen and James and this happened.

Helen's kiss left James decidedly breathless and when she eventually released him he looked at her through sleepy eyes. She smiled back at him wickedly and twisted out of his arms to reach for the bottle from the table. Her hair tickled his nose as she moved and he watched her profile intently as she refilled his teacup and passed it back to him. He took it from her and drank slowly as she poured herself another drink and raised it to her lips with a small sigh.

The logs in the hearth behind began to catch and the heat of the flames warmed his back so he set his teacup down on the tiles and slowly began to unbutton his cuffs. “Is there something on your mind Helen?” he asked and Helen watched him through slitted eyes as she took a drink, pressing her lips together thoughtfully as she swallowed.

“There is,” Helen mumbled and crawled across the floor towards him to give him another kiss. James hummed against her mouth in pleasure and amusement as she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it down his shoulders. He did not protest when she pushed him onto his back and shuffled closer. He reached up to stroke his fingers through her hair as she began to unbutton her own blouse slowly, her lips quirking up into a crooked smile as she let the fabric fall to the floor. James smiled back and tucked his hands behind his head, settling back comfortably as Helen rose up on her knees and unbuttoned her skirt, sliding it down over her hips until she was clad only in her petticoat.

“James, darling,” she cooed as she shuffled closer and raised her knee to straddle him, the lacy frill of her garter appearing for a moment as she settled atop him.

“Take this off,” he murmured, running his hands up her thighs and giving her hips a gentle squeeze. Helen smirked at him and rubbed against him purposefully as she reached for the hem and pulled it up over her head. James growled at the sight of her in her girdle and bra, his eyes trailing down to the little blue bows of her garters. “Very nice darling,” he murmured and Helen chuckled, blowing her hair out of her face with a little puff of breath.

“Do you like it? I confess I had grown rather accustomed to wearing a corset but this is much more practical really,” she teased, leaning back so that her crotch rubbed against the bulge in his trousers.

“May I say that in this instance I wholeheartedly support your endeavour to follow the latest developments in fashion,” he told her earnestly, stroking his palms up and down her thighs as she leant down on her hands and knees to kiss him wetly on the lips. James let his fingers slip under the fabric of her girdle to tug her knickers down and Helen moaned in approval as her tongue delved into his mouth. He was somewhat distracted as her hands stroked up and down his chest, teasing his nipples between her thumb and forefinger and she laughed again as the scrap of her knickers tangled in her garterbelt.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, her hair tickling his face as they both peered down to where there bodies pressed together. Helen leaned to one side and James rolled them onto their sides, his fingers pressing intimately against her sex as they went.

“Wretched thing,” he muttered even as his hand brushed her clit and Helen immediately moaned and spread her legs wider. Unable to resist the compulsion James pressed his finger deep inside her and she jerked her hips into his hand.

“Oh James,” she groaned, grinding her hips around in a circular motion and James scowled in frustration as her underwear inhibited his attempts to spread her legs wider. Helen however seemed singularly disinterested in removing her knickers and reached up instead to bury her fingers in his hair, kissing him insistently as he rolled her onto her back.

“Helen,” he choked as she flopped back against the carpet but Helen merely smirked at him wickedly and slid the straps of her bra down her arms. James smacked his lips together loudly at the sight of her ample bosom threatening to tumble out of the top of the starched white fabric and buried his face in her cleavage, twisting his head from side to side and blowing loud, wet raspberries against her flesh.

“James!” Helen gasped, laughter erupting unbidden from her chest and he took advantage of her distraction to tug the offending material of her bra out of the way and close his lips wetly around her exposed nipple. Helen clutched at his neck and James collapsed on top of her, grinding the hard lump in his trousers against her where his hips lay cradled between her legs. She let her head fall back against the carpet and scraped her nails up and down his scalp before wrapping her arms about him tightly.

“Helen. Helen. Helen.” he chanted, punctuating her name with a wet, open mouth kiss across her breasts, her flesh trembling as she giggled beneath him.

“Kiss me,” she rasped and James reached up to press his lips to hers hungrily. Helen dragged her fingers down his back and slipped them under the belt of his trousers, squeezing his backside firmly and pressing him down against her crotch. James writhed atop her as one hand slid awkwardly around his hip to rub against his straining erection, bending his knees and pushing up on his elbows to give her more room. Helen chased his lips with her own and kissed him again as her hand slid around his hip to join the other in fumbling with the buckle of his belt. James meanwhile was growing decidedly more irritated with her knickers and gripping them tightly in his fists, tugged hard at the lacy material until a loud ripping sound erupted from between Helen's legs. “Damn it, confounded thing!” he groused,

“James!” Helen gasped in surprise.

“I'm sorry darling,” he murmured in contrition, tossing the offending scrap of lace to one side. “Blessed thing, there really was nothing for it,” he tried to explain but the look on her face had morphed from shocked to mischievous and James found his trousers being yanked unceremoniously down his thighs.

“Oh my, Doctor Watson,” Helen drawled wickedly as his erection jutted out proudly from his body. Helen wrapped her hand around his not inconsiderable girth and James found himself rendered suddenly mute as he stared into her eyes. Helen chewed on her lip and regarded him intently as she gave him a few idle strokes with her fingers. James clasped her knee and shuffled closer between her legs, his palm stroking down across her thigh towards her crotch. Helen watched as his fingers moved closer and closer and licked her lips as she met his gaze. James narrowed his eyes at her, his breathing laboured as she rubbed the pad of her thumb across the sensitive ridge where the head of his cock met the shaft.

“Lie down,” he grunted, pressing her firmly by the shoulder and Helen obliged although she did not release her grip on his cock until he grasped her hands and raised them to his lips. James planted little kisses on each of her fingertips and when he sucked on her thumb Helen stroked her palm across the rough fuzz of his sideburn. He blinked at her sleepily for a moment before reaching forward to kiss her on the lips once more. Helen stroked her nails across his scalp and sighed as he kissed her deeply for a long moment before he began to make his way slowly down her body, dawdling at her breasts for a good long while before he kissed his way across her stomach downward until he reached his goal.

Helen chewed her lip and let her eyes fall closed as James stroked his fingers over her centre. It was his custom to take a good long look and she wondered, as she lay completely exposed to his scrutiny, what he could possibly still find so enthralling but a well placed finger put an end to that thought. The wood snapped in the hearth and the music seemed to have stopped, she mused but before she could dwell on the fact any further James tongue was on her and all coherent thought ceased. Helen groaned uncontrollably as he swirled his tongue hotly across her aching flesh, the scratchy bristles of his beard against the soft skin of her inner thigh doing unspeakable things to her body and setting a serpent of arousal coiling around inside her belly.

“James James James,” she babbled, her chest heaving under his ministrations and his chuckle reverberated through her body causing her to gasp loudly. “Oh my!” she exclaimed as hot stab of pleasure spiked through her and she clawed uncontrollably at his shoulders, overcome by the sudden and irrefutable need to have him inside of her. She squirmed beneath him, clutching his head tightly in her hands and pulling on his hair so that he was forced to raise his head and meet her needy stare. “James, darling,” she whimpered, pouting her lower lip and he smiled at her beatifically.

“Poor thing,” he mocked as he pushed up onto his hands and loomed over her with a teasing smile.

“James,” she repeated in that soft voice she knew he could not refuse and stroked her nails gently up and down his arms. He hummed and twisted his head from side to side as he lowered himself across her and kissed her again sweetly, his thick cock brushing torturously against her sex to bump her clit. She groaned again and wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him on with a menacing squeeze of his backside, her fingernails scraping dangerously close to his anus. James twitched and heaved a loud breath, peering down at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. Helen made a taunting, kissy face at him and so he twisted his hips and thrust into her in revenge.

Helen gasped and her mouth fell open, her head twisting on the carpet and making her hair fan out enticingly across the floor behind her. James could not resist burying his fingers in it as he began to slide in and out of her with a deep, slow roll of his hips. His eyes dropped to her breasts to watch as they moved with every thrust.

“Hmm...James,” she murmured, stroking across the side of his face with her knuckles and he leaned down close to kiss her. The fire crackled in the hearth beside them and when Helen shifted beneath him, he allowed her to roll them onto their sides. He knocked his now empty teacup with his elbow and Helen chuckled as it clattered against the tiles of the fireplace.

“Let me,” she murmured against his lips and he did not protest as she slipped out his arms to straddle him. James reached behind her to unclasp her bra, fumbling with the newfangled hook and eye design and Helen laughed again as she arched her back and moved to help him. He arched an appreciative brow as she tossed the offending item to the side.

“Certainly much less effort than a corset,” he commented and she smiled, her hands coming to rest on his chest as she began to rise and fall in a lazy rhythm that was sure to send him out of his mind. James attempted to distract himself by sliding a hand up her thigh to rub her clit in small, slow circles and Helen hummed in appreciation, already quite some way ahead of him in that regard. James had just settled back to enjoy the sight of his cock disappearing between her legs when she gasped loudly and his mouth dropped open in surprise at the sensation of her muscles clenching around him as she came.

“Oh my, Helen,” he said with a smirk and she looked at him through sleepy eyes as she sat astride him, her chest heaving. “Yes you have been rather wound up lately haven't you?” He did not give her the chance to reply, insinuating his hand back between her thighs and nudging her clit with his fingertip. Helen jerked above him, her face contorted into a grimace of pleasure and James smiled devilishly at her.

He buried the fingers of his other hand in her hair and pulled himself up a way to kiss her on the mouth. Helen mumbled incoherently and James chuckled again as she slouched to the side, wrapping his arms about her in a firm embrace before kissing her again soundly. Helen lay prone in his arms and James could not resist the compulsion to take advantage of her compliant state. He hovered over her and took his fill of her bosom, marking her pale skin with lovebites before kneeling above her with his cock in hand. Helen peered up at him and allowed him to guide her hand to his balls, kneading them gently in her palm.

“Hmm that's it,” he mumbled, his eyes narrowing to slits as she took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling agonisingly over the swollen head of his cock before she took him in deeply and he wondered idly if John had shown her how to do this. He buried his fingers tightly in her hair and she did not protest as he took control, guiding her movements up and down his length until he felt the tension building unbearably in his thighs. He pulled her head away abruptly, his cock leaving her mouth with a wet smack and Helen looked up at him in confusion. Panting, James stared down at her face as she pressed his hard length against her cheek and placed a tiny kiss against his stomach.

“Turn around,” he murmured, stroking the back of his knuckles over her cheekbone and Helen meekly shuffled backwards towards the sofa. “There's a good girl now,” James breathed, stroking his hand down her back and squeezing the round swell of her backside appreciatively. Helen glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her behind against him and James growled slightly, a low rumbling chuckle in his throat as he moved between her legs and ran his fingers down the crease of her buttocks to plunge them into the wetness at her centre. Helen moaned and squirmed against his hand as he stroked her for a long moment before dragging his now soaking fingers back up and pressing one finger against the puckered skin of her anus.

Helen twitched and let out a rasping breath but did not protest, merely let her eyes fall closed as James' hand was replaced by the blunt head of his cock. They groaned in unison as he slid gradually inside her and Helen turned her face into the fabric of the chaise to stifle the sound. James reached forward and brushed her hair away from her neck and wrapped his palm around her throat, pulling her head up out of the cushions. He liked to be able to hear her moan.

Without further preamble James began to thrust into her intently and Helen screwed her eyes up tightly as the cries fell unbidden from her throat. James clenched his jaw and grunted as he slid in and out of her body, pleasure swirling through his limbs to bundle as a hot pulsating ball in his belly. He reached around Helen's body and pulled her up a way, pressing his chest against her back and sliding his hand up across her face to press a digit into her mouth. Helen screwed her face up, whining loudly as she sucked on his finger while James muttered obscenities in her ear. When she opened her eyes she could see the vein on the side of his head throbbing, his face red with exertion and when she met his frenzied stare he rasped out a ragged, choking breath in her ear and came hotly inside her.

Fluff Chapter 1

querulouspeg — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 07:23:45 GMT

Title: My Darling Darjeeling.
Rating: PG for now.
Warnings: Tea drinking. Gratuitous Schubert worship.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Between 'For King and Country' and 'Normandy' in terms of chronology.
Summary: Helen/James fluff

This is a WIP and is so far pure fluff. Angst may appear in later chapters, as may porn - you never know how these things might work out. In case you fancied a soundtrack with your fic, the first piece of music James plays is this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSv0vC1vUbA&feature=fvst and the record they put on a bit later is this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Miwejo0mgok

The cup rattled in the saucer as James set her tea down on the desk in front of her. Helen raised her head and gave him a small smile which he returned tenderly. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made a warm feeling take up residence in her stomach and Helen placed her pen down flat on top of the desk and watched as he ambled back towards the tea trolley in the bay. James cradled a saucer in his hand and inhaled the aroma for a long moment before taking a slow slurping sip and gazing out of the rain streaked window with a contented sigh. Outside, a bare branch swayed back and forth against the endless grey of the sky and in the silence Helen could make out the vague groan of the wind.

It had been raining all day and most of yesterday as well and the ground had been unbearably soggy when they had attempted to take their morning stroll. As Helen watched him now, his back ramrod straight despite the familiarity of her company, she could not help but grin at the memory of how they had clung to each other as they attempted to navigate their way down a particularly slippery bank. She had grass stains on her skirt she was sure would never come out but she did not mind. Despite the inclemency of the weather and the chilly air that lingered in the long halls, she felt somehow at peace in this crooked old country house and considered perhaps that if they locked themselves away here forever they might escape all the woes that awaited them in the city.

A log snapped and crackled in the hearth and disrupted her reverie. Helen rose from the desk and crossed the room to stand before the fire, poking at the cinders for longer than was strictly necessary.

“Everything alright Helen?” James enquired in a soft voice.

“Perfectly darling,” she told him with a smile. James drained his teacup and set it down on the trolley and made his way slowly towards her. As he approached he cupped her elbow in one hand and gently plucked the poker from her fingers.

“Are you cold?” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek with his nose and Helen turned into his embrace.

“Not particularly,” she replied. “Just....had enough of writing for this afternoon.”

“Hmm,” James answered and pulled her closer to kiss her softly on the lips. She indulged him happily, squeezing his shoulder firmly as the bristles of his beard scratched her cheek.

“Play something for me,” Helen asked quietly, resting her forehead against his and peering into his eyes.

“For you, anything,” James whispered and gave her a conspiratorial wink before he stooped down to hang the poker on the rack. Helen watched his retreating form as he crossed the room and lifted the lid on the baby grand in the corner. “Schubert darling?”

“Of course,” Helen replied with a grin and James shook his head mildly as he cracked his knuckles.

“You and your obsession with Schubert, Helen,” he chided playfully even as he began to play.

“My obsession? You are the one who can play all his pieces from memory!” she retorted and James grinned at her.

“My dear heart, only because you ask me to,” he replied and Helen shook her head as she began to amble along beside the bookcase, absently running her fingertips across the spines of the books as she passed.

“I am not averse to Liszt,” she told him. “Or Chopin for that matter.”

“Hmmm,” James replied, only half listening as he began to get lost in playing.

“I think....” Helen said, gliding closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. James met her eyes as he played and she grinned. “...that you do not find Schubert as wearisome as you pretend.” James chuckled at her and swayed as his hands ran up and down across the keyboard. Helen stood close behind him and stroked her hand across his neck as he played.

Outside the wind gusted hard, driving a sheet of rain against the windowpane and Helen slipped out from behind the piano to gaze through the glass. James peered at her across the top of the piano as she stood, admiring the elegance of her profile as she pressed her palms against the windowframe and her breath misted against the glass. The piece he was playing came to an end and Helen turned, her skin squeaking where it was pressed against the window.

“Do carry on, darling,” she implored. James could not refuse and began another piece. As he played, Helen moved towards the tea trolley and lifted the lid off the pot, wrinkling her nose at the contents for a moment before letting out a sigh.

“I thought you liked darjeeling?” James offered.

“I do,” she replied a touch absently, replacing the lid on the pot and poking her finger into the as yet untouched almond tart on the tray beside it.

“What's the matter Helen?” James asked as she sloped back towards the fireplace. She did not respond, merely dropped another log onto the grate instead. “Darling?”

“Nothing, James,” she told him. “Nothing is the matter at all. In fact....”she hesitated and raised her head to meet his eyes. “Everything is really rather perfect.”

“I must say, darling,” James breathed contentedly as he reached a particularly dreamlike portion of the piece he was playing. “I think you might be right.”

Helen sat slowly on a chaise in front of the hearth and began to unlace her boots, wiggling her toes as they were freed from the confines of the stiff leather. When the boots were off, she turned and raised her feet onto the cushions beside her and pretended not to notice as James' eyes were drawn to her ankles. She suppressed a chuckle and began to unpin the braids on the back of her head.

“I was thinking,” she began, digging her fingers into her hair and loosening the plaits so that it tumbled down wildly over her shoulder.

“What were you thinking?” James enquired from his spot across the room.

“I was thinking we ought to let the poor housekeeper go home before it gets dark. It is so terribly fierce out there, I imagine that if we keep the poor soul any later this evening she should never find her way home at all.”

“Hmmm,” James responded with a quirk of his brow, watching as Helen loosened the frill of her lace cravatte. “And what about supper? You are not particularly adept with a frying pan my dear,” he teased and Helen threw a cushion at him.

“I am adept enough to beat you about the head with it Doctor Watson,” she chuffed, pressing her chin against the back of the chaise and glaring at him in mock indignance.

“Very well,” he sighed. “If it will preserve me from your abuse.” Helen shook her head at him and flopped back against the cushions as the music ceased and a chuckling James slipped from the room.

When he returned a little while later he found Helen sitting on the floor beneath the Victrola, rifling through a box of records.

“There seems to be a glut of Caruso,” she told him mournfully as he trotted up to the window to watch as the housekeeper disappeared down the drive, weaving from side to side across the path as the wind drove across the vale.

“I thought you liked opera,” he murmured, waiting till the woman was out of sight before turning across the room to join Helen.

“I do but it's a little more maudlin than I was hoping for,” she said, letting her shoulders slouch as she pulled another sleeve from the cupboard and dropped it onto the pile on the floor beside her. James leant forward and picked it up, turning it over in his hands for a minute before pushing up onto his knees and shuffling toward the Victrola. A few moments later and the dulcet tones of a tenor began to waft from the speaker and James leant back in his haunches. He turned his head and met Helen's eyes with a little smile.

“It will have to do,” he told her and reached forward to peck her lightly on the lips. “Oh my knees are too old for this,” he complained pushing up stiffly and Helen chuckled as he turned to reach for her hand. “Well isn't that just perfectly charming,” he said with a mock scowl as he pulled her to her feet. “Not all of us can be blessed with such youthful joints as yourself, Helen.”

“Sorry darling,” she said, kissing him again. “Let me get you a medicinal tonic to ease your rheumatism.”

James swatted her backside playfully as she slipped away and Helen turned to give him a cheeky wink over her shoulder. He dug his finger under his cravatte and jerked it roughly from side to side, pulling it loose from his waistcoat and stepping towards the fireplace. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and toed his shoes off and a moment later Helen reappeared in the doorway with a bottle of something brown.

“Whiskey,” she told him, waving it at him and causing the contents to slosh around inside the bottle.

“Aah,” he chuffed in satisfaction as she plucked her teacup from the desk and moved toward the tea trolley to dump the now cold contents back into the pot with a splosh. She hooked his empty cup in her finger and sauntered back towards him as Caruso broke into a particularly robust chorus. He took the tiny teacups from her and dutifully held them as she uncorked the whiskey and poured a generous measure for each of them.

“Chin chin,” she told him and they toasted their teacups together with a clink before they drank. James chortled as Helen screwed her face up as the whiskey went down and she dumped the bottle loudly on a side table before stepping close to the hearth and sinking to her knees.

“Let's get this going a bit more shall we,” she said as she began to stack up the grate high. “It's already getting a bit parky in here and when the light goes we'll freeze.”

“We shall have to keep each other warm,” he told her moving closer and Helen looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“James,” she purred as he sank down beside her.

“Helen,” he crooned in reply and she chuckled before cupping his face in her hands and kissing him soundly.

Meme thing.

querulouspeg — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 04:43:09 GMT

I never do these things but this one seems fun. In the comments, you remind me of a story I haven't written yet and I give you 3 sentences from that story. Simple enough really.

Five Times Fic

querulouspeg — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 03:04:22 GMT

Title: Five Times Helen Magnus Went to the Pub.
Rating: Um....PG. Harmless.
Warnings: Meh. I can't imagine there are any squicks in this one.
Disclaimer: Also Meh. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Five exceedingly silly pub related drabbules.

The Bishop's Finger

It was blowing a gale outside but Helen didn't mind. She was very warm and very full of roast beef, a half empty tankard of ale on the table before her. Declan's arm was wrapped around her waist and his nose was pressed into her hair, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered to her amid the clatter of cutlery on plates and the hubbub of chatter in the pub.

He must be quite tipsy she considered as she stared into the flames roaring in the hearth across from their table as he murmured suggestively in her ear. Then again, she was hardly the model of sobriety herself as she squeezed his thigh and turned her head to meet his lustful gaze with a feral look. He did not protest as she began to rise from the table, the crockery clanking against the surface as she squeezed out of the booth.

Declan grasped her hand and let her lead him through the mass of bodies at the bar, their coats gripped firmly in his free hand as they headed for the door. The wind gusted up the narrow old street and Declan shuddered as they stepped outside, swaying slightly as the cold hit him.

“Dear God!” Helen groaned as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, lashing down her hair and blinking rapidly as the cold wind hit her fully in the face.

“Brass monkeys eh?” he said, buttoning his coat and stepping towards her. “Come 'ere!” Helen did not protest as he grabbed her arm and indelicately pulled her to him, wrapping her in an embrace and pressing her back against a drainpipe with his lips. Helen's squeal was lost as he kissed her hotly, her hands gripping his coat tightly as she tipped her head back and opened her mouth to let his tongue inside.

“Declan!” she protested a minute later when his hand slid up inside her jacket to press against the smooth skin of her back and a blast of icy air rushed up inside her clothes. “Declan!” she cried, twisting out of his grasp and he chuckled, a deranged smile spreading across his face as she clasped his hand and dragged him down the road in search of a cab.

The Chestnut Tree

Helen blinked very slowly and breathed out a long breath through her nose before stepping through the door of the pub. Being mid afternoon it was relatively empty but for a few old men playing cribbage in the corner and a nervous looking man robotically inserting pound coins into a fruit machine against the wall.

She glanced towards the bar and locked eyes with the barmaid who gave her a slight shrug and gestured towards the back with a nod of her head. Helen sighed loudly.

She strode purposefully around the bar, the smell of stale beer and peanuts filling her nostrils as the gentle clack of the pool table reached her ears from the saloon beyond. Helen stopped by a shabby brown door, the faux detailing coming unstuck as she pushed it open and stepped out into the yard. A drain gurgled as she passed a stack of broken chairs, the fabric of the seats covered with mildew and stained with damp from being abandoned to the elements. She followed the path and was greeted by the sound of retching and raised her head to meet Henry's forlorn stare as he sat with his chin propped against his arms. He gave her the meekest of smiles and shrugged and Helen closed her eyes as the retching sound continued. Slowly she weaved through the assortment of wooden benches and tables and came to a stop beside the slouched form of her daughter, her face obscured by a mop of blonde hair as she vomited into an old bean can full of cigarette butts.

“Oh Ashley,” Helen uttered tiredly and shaking her head slowly.

“I'm so sorry Mooom” Ashley groaned raising her head to meet her mother's eyes with a look of contrition. Helen winced as she took in the damp strands of hair plastered to her face, vomit clinging to the front of her sweater. Behind her Henry sat silently swaying, his jaw drawn back and his teeth clenched tight, clearly struggling to focus. The table was strewn with empty bags of chips and bottles of sickly sweet smelling booze in a variety of rainbow colours. Helen wrinkled her nose and reached down to pull Ashley up.

Ashley leant heavily against her mother's shoulder as she guided her out of the pub towards the car, taking staggering steps and blabbering in Helen's ear about how she was the best mother in the world and how much she loved her. Helen smiled soothingly as she tucked her into the back seat and pulled the seatbelt across her lap. Ashley swayed, her head thwacked against the head rest and she promptly slouched to one side and fell silent.

A few moments later and Henry came clattering out of the door, munching happily on the contents of a small maroon coloured packet in his hand. “These are great, I am going to buy a whole bunch of these to take back home. But only the bacon ones, those fishy ones were totally gross. I mean, just EW!” he ranted from the passenger seat as Helen turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

The Seven Stars

Helen found herself staring at the knot of James tie for a long, long moment, her fingers gripping the base of a lowball glass tightly.

“Another sir?” a gentle voiced asked and Helen raised her head to meet the mild expression of the waiter, wiping his hands on his apron and gazing at her expectantly.

“If you'd be so kind,” James voice rumbled and the waiter gave a short bow before taking their glasses and shuffling away. Helen met his sad expression with one of her own, tears pricking her eyes again.

The young man returned a few moments later with two fresh glasses of single malt, placing them quietly before them. “Thank you,” Helen murmured and he bowed again before shuffling away. She reached forward and turned her glass around and around in her fingers, raising her head and watching with some surprise as James knocked his back in one. “Steady on James,” she said quietly and his bleary eyes met hers but he said nothing. A few moments passed until eventually Helen shifted, pressing her lips together hard and reaching for his hand. James let his eyes fall closed and gently linked his fingers with hers.

“Oh James,” she whispered mournfully and he swayed a little.

“I just....it doesn't feel real Helen,” James told her gravely and she nodded. “I can't believe he's gone.” She clenched her jaw but a single tear escaped her eye and she sniffed. James clutched her hand tightly and she could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure. “I'm glad you're here,” he said a minute later.

“I couldn't leave you alone, James,” she uttered breathlessly. James reached up with his handkerchief to dry her cheek and she gave him a tender smile. He returned it, staring into her eyes for a moment before digging into his pocket for his watch. Helen watched as he flicked the gilt lid open with his thumb.

“Perhaps we ought to be getting back, it's getting rather late,” he explained and she nodded, gesturing towards the watch with her chin.

“Left that to you did he?” she asked quietly and James pursed his lips.

“It still keeps perfect time after all these years,” he replied wistfully.

“May I?” She reached forward and James let her take it from him, the delicate chain stretching over the table from his pocket. She turned it over in her hands and flicked the lid open, staring at the inscription carved inside.

“An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all,” she read and James emitted a huff of amusement.

“Nigel always did love old Oscar,” he chuckled. Helen smiled and flicked the watch shut, handing it back to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her and she squeezed his hand in hers as their eyes met. “Stay with me tonight won't you Helen?” he asked in a quiet voice. She held his gaze for a long moment.

“Of course I will darling,” she replied.

The Wheatsheaf

Helen stood nervously at the end of the bar rubbing her gloved hands together. A older gentleman in the corner peered at her over the top of his paper and Helen's heart thudded in her chest at their eyes met. A hacking cough broke the moment and he looked away. Helen blushed and licked her lips.

She could hear the low tones of John's voice drifting through the lounge and rested her hand on the bar, gazing at the frosted window ahead of her. Through the lettering on the glass she could see the golden fields in the distance, the heads of wheat swaying hypnotically in the late afternoon sun and she stared for a long time until John's gentle cough broke her reverie.

“Helen, darling,” he said gently and she smiled at him as he took her hand in his. He beamed back at her, his expression earnest even as his breath hitched and he moved closer. “Just a little while and our room will be ready,” he explained quietly and she swallowed hard. “Would you like something to drink while we wait?” She nodded, unable to form words around the lump in her throat, her heart beating wildly in her chest. John made a gesture to the barman with his fingers and squeezed her elbow, guiding her towards a table beside the empty fireplace. Helen sat meekly and adjusted her skirt nervously, conscious of the male gazes directed her way. It was not totally out of the ordinary for a lady to be seen in a tavern and as taverns went this was quite a nice one, a coaching inn in a village a days ride from Oxford but she felt out of her element nonetheless. Helen unpinned her hat and held it in her lap like a shield until John returned with a glass of port.

He sat down next to her and took her hand, raising it to his lips and staring into her eyes with a tender expression. Helen gazed back at him, the intensity of his gaze making her ache in a wonderful way as he soothed her nerves with a gentle caress of his fingers across the back of her hand. “Would you like to eat something, my love?” Helen shook her head and John sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving her face. She watched his fingers run up and down the stem of the glass where it sat on the table and licked her lips.

“Mr Druitt, sir” a voice called from the doorway and Helen turned her head to see a portly gentleman in a waistcoat and cravatte. “If you and your wife would like to come with me,” he continued and John smiled beatifically. He stood and offered her his hand. Helen allowed him to help her out of her seat and guide her across the lounge towards the staircase. The steward smiled at her congenially as they approached and gave a slight bow before turning and leading them up the stairs to their room, John's firm grip never faltering as they neared the door.

“Thank you,” he crooned in his velvety baritone as the steward handed him a key.

“If there is anything you might be needing sir,” he replied and John smiled again before dragging Helen inside and abruptly closing the door. Helen gasped as he immediately pressed her against it and clutched his head in her hands as he kissed her hungrily.

The Ship

Will was glad to be out of the bracing wind that blew in off the Sound but was a little taken aback that Magnus had opted to drink in such an utter hole, even if she had just been dragged out of the sea by the Navy. Henry walked ahead of him towards the bar to enquire of the whereabouts of his erstwhile employer while Will looked around the bar. A group of sailors stood clustered around a table, jeering raucously as two men with arms like tree trunks wrestled. His lip curled slightly as he watched with wide eyes, the veins on their heads bulging as they struggled until their arms slammed down on the table hard and their glasses jumped into the air for a second before clanking back down heavily. A loud chorus of bellowing erupted around the room.

When Henry tugged on his elbow a moment later, Will turned and followed him through the noisy bar to the next room. He had seen many things since working with Magnus and considered later that he really ought to have been better prepared for the sight that greeted him but it was a surprise all the same. Magnus and Kate were seated at a rectangular table in the corner with two extremely burly and muscled young men. Will blinked hard. Two extremely burly and scantily clad young men. Magnus had a sly smirk on her face, her long dark hair curling wildly around her bare shoulders and her hand pressed flat on a heap of cards in front of her as she sat locked in a staring match with the nearly naked man opposite her. Kate sat beside her in an equally dishevelled state, giggling into the glass in her hand as she drank. Will did not have to spend too long wondering what had happened to their clothes as he took in the spectacle before him and turned to meet Henry's shocked face as Magnus flicked a card over on the table and Kate began to guffaw uncontrollably.

Will turned back to see the man's face fall and Magnus sat back in her chair, slowly crossing her arms over her vest and quirking a brow at him. Slowly he rose from his chair and amid the hooting and jeering of the other patrons grudgingly removed his shorts to stand naked before her. Kate laughed maniacally and swayed in her seat for a moment before slumping over unceremoniously, her head connecting heavily with the table. At that point, Will decided he ought to intervene.

A little bit of smut for what ails yer....

querulouspeg — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 22:50:31 GMT

Title: Imperfect Cadence
Pairing: Helen/Declan, sorta Helen/Will.
Rating: Most definitely ADULT
Warnings: A little bit dark, excessively porny. Definite Angst.
Spoilers: Icebreaker, Fugue post ep.
Summary: It doesn't help that Declan's still hanging around when Will is angry enough at Helen.

Will has had occasion many times to use the old adage “physician, heal thyself” on Helen Magnus. She's stubborn and wilful and it drives him to distraction, the way she'll push herself to the brink and him along with her. He will never admit that there are times he might perhaps apply the maxim to himself, that he ought perhaps to turn his considerable skill and talent to his own behaviour. Instead Will skulks around the Sanctuary in a temper, taking his anger out on the punchbag in the gym, snarling at everyone as he stalks from room to room. They've not really spoken for days and Will is in no small way irritated that he seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time alone while Henry and Declan trail around after Magnus like obedient dogs. Declan has been hanging around since their misadventure to the Arctic and Will is less than happy at the way Magnus defers to him while Will has become the outcast, the loner, ostracised as though he's the villain of the piece just because he questioned her. Henry he can kind of understand, she's like his mother and if there's anything he can sympathise with, it's that but Declan?

So he hides away in the catacombs, rifling through Magnus' old junk convincing himself he's trying to become familiar with everything, just in case that day comes when she goes too far and leaves him behind to deal with her crap. He convinces himself that's why he's down here, digging through trunks of old ball gowns and shoe boxes of photos. Will wonders why they're here and not in albums in her study, the pictures of these people she knew before. He asks himself if it's because she doesn't really care to remember, to think about the lives she's toyed with. Like she toys with him. He grinds his jaw and seethes with rage, gripping the fabric of a long red dress tightly in his hands and when his head hangs forward, he's surprised to find it still smells of her perfume.

Later Will pads silently along the stone corridor towards the stairs, heading to the pool to swim off the unsettling thoughts that have come into his head from too long surrounded by the mementos of her strange life. He passes one of the labs on his way towards the back stairs and hesitates when he hears the scrape of metal against stone and the rattle of pens clattering across a desk. Slowly, silently he moves along the hall towards the sound, a weak shaft of light slipping through the open door and casting a long thin line across the floor. He startles when a loud feminine gasp reaches his ears, instinct kicks in and he tenses, jogging towards the door in defensive mode but as he nears it the gasp melts into a long moan and he freezes.

Squinting he peers through the door and when his gaze focuses on the room beyond his mouth falls open. For a moment he's disgusted, his lip curls up over his teeth but when he hears that breathy moan again something inside him flickers hotly and instead of turning away he steps a little closer. Will leans his hand against the door frame and hidden in the darkness of the hall, watches the scene before him transfixed.

Magnus is pressed against a stone pillar, her eyes closed and her lips bunched up in a pout as she whimpers. Her face is twisted in rapture and Will stares, his eyes following the dark trail of her hair as it tumbles across her shoulders and over her bare chest. Her shirt is opened wide, the cups of her navy blue bra tugged aside to expose the ample swell of her breasts, the straps slipping down across her arms. Will can't take his eyes off them, the dark red of her pert nipples and the smooth, creamy skin around them. He licks his lips as he watches them heave with every shuddering breath she takes.

She shifts her feet and his eyes are drawn down to the expanse of thigh that is revealed, her leg crooked upward over the shoulder of the figure crouched on his knees before her. Magnus buries her fingers in his hair and chews her lip as she lets out a long groan of pleasure, her head twisting from side to side. A large masculine hand slides up her thigh, the thick fingers digging into her skin and Will's eyes narrow as he sees Declan's face appear as he trails his lips wetly across her inside leg.

His first thought is that he wants to kill him, that he most definitely, absolutely is going to kill McRae and probably Magnus too. Hate twists in his gut and his fists clench, his jaw grinding in anger as it becomes suddenly very clear why Declan is so very obedient and loyal but as he glares at them from his hiding place he can't bring himself to look away. He's thought about her a hundred times before, imagined how she'd look in this moment and none of it can compare with the reality of seeing Helen Magnus come undone, even if it is at the hands of another man. She's utterly stunning and Will can't take his eyes off her.

Her breath hitches and she runs her hands through Declan's hair from front to back and he looks up at her face. She murmurs something so quietly Will can't make it out but the look on Declan's face is one of utter desperation as he slides his hands over her hips and up her body, rising to his feet and pressing her against the wall in a fierce kiss. Magnus mumbles against his lips and Will watches as she fiddles hurriedly with the buckle of Declan's belt. Declan is too busy kissing her, holding her face tightly in his hands while he sucks her lips into his mouth and slides his tongue between them. Gasping, Magnus tugs the offending belt apart and pops the button on his jeans, shoving them roughly down and Declan shifts between her legs as his thighs are exposed. His hand drops to her thigh and grips tight. Magnus obligingly hooks her leg around him and he squeezes the round swell of her ass as he hoists her up and presses into her.

Magnus grips onto him madly and they both groan and the sound goes straight to Will's groin. Declan rocks his hips and Magnus head lolls back against the wall, her fingers digging into his shoulder as he begins to thrust slowly into her. Declan's hand is pressed to her jaw, pulling her head roughly towards him and kissing her again hungrily. Magnus is squirming, frantic as she clutches at his head, his neck, his shoulder before dropping her hand and scratching her nails across Declan's bare backside, urging him on. Declan growls and jerks his hips hard against her and she hangs onto him in desperation as he begins to grind into her faster, harder and Will feels the hot pang of desire burning in his limbs.

She twists her head to the side and Declan fastens his lips to her neck as she moans, a loud breathy sound that makes Will shudder. He shouldn't be here, a voice inside his head tells him, he shouldn't be watching this and his eyes fall closed for a moment as he stands in the darkened corridor, the sound of her voice echoing around his mind. “Declan,” she groans and Will opens his eyes, staring where they stand entangled against the pillar and clenches his jaw. He shouldn't be sorry, a jealous, snide voice in his head argues, she wants him to see it, she must, otherwise she wouldn't be here where anyone could see while another man fucks her. Will's head spins and he leans heavily against the doorframe, the agony of his anger and his desire making him dizzy.

At that moment, Magnus cries out, a desperate mewling sound that clutches at his heart and he pushes away the hot bolt of possessiveness that spikes through his chest. Will can't admit that he wants to be the one to make her feel like that, wants to be the one to make her sob and cry the way she is now as Declan buries his fingers roughly in her hair and gasps, slamming into her again and again until he lets out a ragged bark of lust and comes inside her.

Will takes short, sharp breaths where he stands as Declan's loud gasps fill his ears and he watches as Magnus tenderly strokes her fingers across his face. He shifts and kisses her softly, slowly and the wet sound of their lips makes Will's stomach twist. They murmur unintelligible endearments to one another as they stand entwined against the pillar and Declan buries his face in Magnus neck. She caresses the back of his head, stroking up and down his back slowly with a lazy, languid expression on her face and Will jerks back suddenly as she raises her head and looks towards the door with sleepy eyes. He's frozen, petrified by the blue of her eyes and his heart pounds sickeningly inside his chest. Hidden in the darkness of the corridor he takes a silent step backwards, then another and another before turning and slipping away.

New story!

querulouspeg — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 00:03:51 GMT

Title: I'll Be Seeing You
Pairing: Helen/James, Helen/Nikola, Helen/OMC
Rating: Teen?? No Graphic Sex.
Authors Notes: Helen and James are so great, one has to wonder what went wrong. Set over several decades.
Summary: One lifetime together is hard enough, no matter how much you might love each other.

Complete story posted at

AO3

Fanfiction.net

And Sanctuaryfiction.net

Yuletide Wishes

querulouspeg — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 05:03:24 GMT

Dere Satan,

I hav been kwite gud this yere and not bene rude to mother. I hav keep my bedroom tidy. I lerned my verb tables and only got caned by the latin master once for ~~inssab~~ ~~inssaburdinn~~ talking and answering back but that was when Barnabas Balkwill-White told Assumpta MacEvoy that I fancied her. Also the vicar told me if I did not say about him and Mrs Turnbull then I would get presents at Chrissmas insted of cole. So I would ~~apree~~ ~~apreshiate~~ like for my presents these

1)For matron to take the polythene sheet off my mattress. I don't need it anymore and Simkin and Rudge laugh at me.

2)A new lock-up-box for my dorm. Simkin and Rudge smashed the lock on mine and took all my wine gums.

3)A new cricket bat to smash Simkin and Rudge in the head.

4)For there to be no more latin and greke.

5)For Dr Magnus to take Mr Baker the sport master away. We are sure he is not human.

6)For there to be no more semolina pudding at dinner. It is kwite ~~disskus~~ horrid.

7)For Dr Magnus to be the new sport techer.

8)A yoyo

9)A horse

10)For the boys skool to burn down and for all the boys to have to go to the gurls skool insted. Gurls are whizz bang wunderfull.

Yors Sinserely,

Alfred Shufflebotham

Motivational Tomatoes!

querulouspeg — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 16:28:32 GMT

So things are pretty dreary around here right now - I won't go into tedious detail but I am sure you can all appreciate despair, emptiness [insert existentialist lament here] etc etc ad inf. Anyway, there is a really quite wonderful thing going on in my yard that gives me hope. I tried cultivating tomatoes this summer in the greenhouse and didn't get a single fruit, not one. Meanwhile however, in the dank shady yard where I dump my refuse sacks a stray tomato seed survived the dinner table, escaped the bin and slipped down a crack in the concrete. It has grown into this huge plant which is now, in chilly miserable November starting to bear fruit. ~sniff~ I'm sure there's a message in here, I hope you will take a moment and let some of the warm and fuzzies give you hope too!

Because it's grey and crappy outside...

querulouspeg — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 07:59:13 GMT

...and I want to pretend I am under the Neapolitan sun.....on Capri to be specific. Yeah, you know what I'm saying!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyt8xs_6MrE&feature=related

Monsoon!!

querulouspeg — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 10:45:02 GMT

Title: Mile High Over Mayotte
Pairing: Helen/Charlotte/Feliz.
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue me.
Author's Notes/Warnings: My cracky contribution to the post Monsoon smutfest!
Summary: Airplane bathrooms, champagne, smut.

Eventually Richard's plane landed but not before Helen and Charlotte had spent a long time snogging on the road behind the departure lounge. They only stopped when Richard and CIA guy approached.

“Hey my plane has landed,” Richard began. “I will give you all a ride home since you're so wonderful Helen.”

“Thanks Richard,” she said, her arms still wrapped around Charlotte who was gazing at her lovestruck.

“Oh my goodness, were you kissing? How cool! Did you see that, CIA guy, they were totally making out!” Richard said with a clap of his hands. CIA guy grinned like an idiot and Helen curled her lip at the sleazy look in his eyes.

“Come on then everyone let's go.” Richard said clapping his hands again.

So they all got on the plane and started drinking because Richard was a party kind of guy and had an infectious laugh and all in all Helen thought he seemed quite nice. Also she was a sucker for a guy who could do accents and she and Charlotte spent a long time getting drunker and drunker and laughing while Richard took them through his extensive repertoire of silly voices. CIA guy sat in the corner looking sleazy in his beige suit. Helen never could bring herself to trust a man who wore a beige suit and curled her lip in disgust when he blew her a sleazy kiss. Ug, and his mother saw fit to name him BRADLEY of all things, she thought with a shudder.

After a while Charlotte got up to do a wee and Helen went with her into Richard's small but quite big considering it was on a plane bathroom.

“I suppose it's because he lives on his plane,” Charlotte said, looking at the bathtub as she dropped her pants and sat down on the can.

“Yes, I suppose” Helen agreed, sitting down on the side of the tub. “Actually I could do with a bath, I feel really grimy from getting knocked to the ground so many times.”

“Me too,” Charlotte agreed as she stood up and wiped her bum, dropping the tissue into the bog behind her. “Why don't you run the water? I'm sure Richard won't mind since he loves you so much.”

Helen smiled and stuck the plug in the hole and Charlotte stared down the front of her dress at her fabulous boobs as she leant forward to turn on the faucet. Helen sat up and gave her a brilliant smile and promptly emptied a bottle of bubblebath into the water as Charlotte pulled her vest over her head. Helen could not help but stare at her naked bosom, for Charlotte was not wearing a bra on account of her boobs being quite small. They were nonetheless a nice pair of boobs and Helen met Charlotte's blushing face with a waggle of her eyebrows before standing up and starting to strip off.

Meanwhile in the next room, the sound of the bath filling made Richard smile. “Ooh,” he said, jumping up and rubbing his hands together. “I think the ladies are having a bath. I wonder if they'll let us join in?”

CIA guy smiled sleazily and rubbed his sweaty palms sleazily on his beige pants. “I love women who take baths,” he drawled sleazily. Richard wrinkled his nose at CIA guys sleazy lameness and turned to the fridge to pull out a Magnum of very expensive champagne – the kind that actually tastes nice – and skipped along the floor to knock on the bathroom door. “Oh Helen darling, Charlotte sweetheart, I have something for you!” he cooed.

“It's open!” he heard Helen's voice call from the other side and Richard happily opened the door to be met with the stupendous sight of Helen and Charlotte rubbing their soapy hands across each other's wondrous breasts.

“Oh my word! I'm so excited!” he exclaimed. “Feel my heart!” and Helen smiled at beatifically from the bath.

“Oh do come in Richard, dear,” she said softly and Richard grinned and immediately stepped forward, the champagne cork popping loudly off the bottle and a spray of foam spurting suggestively across the room in a white arc. Moving closer he poured the champagne into Helen's mouth while Charlotte giggled appreciatively.

“I'll give you all the champagne you want,” CIA guy said sleazily from the door and the three in the bathroom turned to look at him in disgust.

“Richard, be a darling,” Helen said and he willingly obliged, turning to slam the door in CIA guy's sleazy face, the wood smacking hard into his nose.

“Hey!” he cried, staggering back as he reached up to clutch his face.

Richard turned back to the ladies in the bath with a charming smile and Charlotte and Helen exchanged a knowing look.

“Come along then, Richard,” Helen said cheerfully and Richard giggled effeminately as he handed Charlotte the bottle of champagne and began to rip off his clothing.

“Oh you look much better without that shirt,” Helen told him earnestly at the sight of his burly, hair covered chest. Charlotte's eyes went wide at the sight of his enormous cock standing proudly away from his body. Richard winked as the two women stared mouths agape at his stupendous girth.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Charlotte.

“Dear Lord!” replied Helen and quirked a brow at Charlotte as she held her hand out to help Richard step into the water between them, his feet rubbing against the side with a loud squeal.

“Hey!” CIA guy said from outside the door. “Guys, I need some help! I think my nose is broken!” Helen waved her hand in a gesture of pshaw! towards the door and Richard and Charlotte began to giggle inanely.

“Oh this is so exciting, this is so incredible! UNG!” Richard said, clapping his hands together and splashing water and bubbles all over Helen and Charlotte. “Why don't we all give each other a lovely kiss?”

Helen gazed at him indulgently and leant forward to smooch him passionately. She pulled away after a moment and left Richard gasping as she leant forward and began to smooch Charlotte instead.

“Hmmm mmmm mmmm” Charlotte moaned against Helen's lips. Helen pulled back, dragging the Magnum out of Charlotte's hand and tipping it to her lips to glug champagne loudly as Richard and Charlotte shared a wet kiss.

“Charlotte, turn around and get up on the side of the bath,” Helen asked sweetly. Charlotte nodded in agreement and turned around, her knees squeaking loudly against the enamel as she went.

“Oh what have you got in mind, you incredible, brilliant woman?” Richard gushed and Helen winked before leaning forward, a wave of water splashing over the side as she reached up and poured champagne across Charlotte's bare buttocks. “Oh my god, I'm so excited Helen! Feel my heart!” he exclaimed, pressing her palm to his chest. Helen smacked him playfully and shuffled forward, reaching towards Charlotte's exposed cheeks to lick the champagne from her skin.

“Uh uh! Oh yeah! Uh!” Charlotte began to chant as Helen's tongue went to work between her butt cheeks, her arms flailing about and sending a stack of bath products clattering loudly to the floor.

“Guys!?” CIA called from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay in there?”

Richard shuffled back a little to give Helen room to move, running his hands up her sides and clasping her magnificent breasts in his enormous manly paws. “Oh Helen, oh my! You're wonderful! You're brilliant!” he babbled as he fondled her soap covered bosom, his prodigious manhood pressing against her back as he peppered the sides of her face with kisses.

“Oh yes Richard!” Helen gasped before burying her face between Charlotte's cheeks once again.

“Uh uh aieee oh yuh!” Charlotte rambled incoherently at the unbelievable pleasure Helen's mouth was causing.

“What a day! I'm so excited!” Richard said grabbing onto Helen's cheeks and thrusting into her with his enormous member.

“Oh thank you Richard!” Helen moaned as he began to pound into her from behind, water splashing wildly across the bathroom floor.

“Dear Lord!” Helen cried in pleasure as she came.

“Uh uh AAAAAAH!” Charlotte squealed at the same time, overwhelmed by the best orgasm she had ever had in her life caused by Dr Magnus' considerable talent with her tongue, and fell limply back down into Helen's arms.

“Oh god, I'm so excited! I'm so excited!” Richard babbled over and over as he boffed Helen's brains out. “UNG! AH! OH GOD! I LOVE YOU GUYS!” he shouted, pulling out and spunking all over Helen and Charlotte's happy smiling faces. “Ah, what a day!” he said with a sigh and slid down under the bubbles with a grin on his face.

Afterwards they all sat around in fluffy white bath robes drinking tea, Charlotte dozing as Helen and Richard discussed cricket – for even though his name was Feliz he seemed to be quite British.

CIA guy sat in the corner in a sulk, holding a bag of ice to his face and Helen regarded the blood stains on his beige suit with a smirk at the victory against bad taste.

“Yes, I can assure you, Dr Magnus, thanks to my resources, your financial future will be very healthy for quite some time,” Richard told her with a smile.

“Thank you Richard,” Helen replied, raising her teacup to his in a toast as the plane made it's way across the sky.

The End.

querulouspeg — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 05:15:41 GMT

Woah! I actually got around to writing a Sam/Baal. It feels a bit strange but since I've gone to all the effort I may as well share it with you. It's pretty dark and not very happy.

Title: Barefoot on Broken Glass
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue me.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Sex, Violence, Angst, Dubious Consent. This story features horrible bastard Baal from Abyss, not cute funny Baal from season 10. As you can see, I do not use the apostrophe in his name. Possible myriad errors throughout text. Apologies.
Summary: Gratuitous, overblown, dramatic 'Sam is Baal's love slave' fic.

It was the silence that was the most difficult to contend with, the utter stillness of the long corridors made the place seem much colder and more so when the icy breeze howled above ground, whistling eerily down the hallways and making Sam shiver. No one ever called her Sam in this place, if anyone called her at all but it felt right, a vague foggy recollection in the back of her mind of someone calling her name down a corridor not utterly dissimilar to the one she found herself in now.

She reached the heavy door at the end and turned the handle, the metal stiff from the never ending cold and it squealed loudly under her hand. On the other side of the door a pair of Jaffa soldiers stood abruptly to attention and she regarded them passively as one stepped back to pull the door closed behind her and the other moved forward to punch a code into a panel in the wall ahead. She pulled her hood about her head and pressed the digits of one hand into the spaces between the fingers of the other, the gloves sliding more snugly over her palm as the sounds of the locks turning drifted from inside the wall and the stony facade began to slide open. A blast of icy wind gusted into the cavern and Sam blinked against it before stepping through onto the promenade outside.

If the Jaffa thought it strange they made no indication of it and Sam supposed they thought it some odd Tau'ri behaviour, the need to visit the surface despite the perpetual ice and snow. If she was honest it did not feel as wrong as it perhaps ought to - living underground without the sun. As she walked now under the sloping roof of ice she gazed out across the seemingly endless blanket of white that extended towards the horizon, the sun as always hidden behind a foggy sky and searched her mind for a memory that remained just beyond reach. The Jaffa watched her retreating figure as she began her daily walk around the stone path that circled the surface of the fortress buried in the ice.

She turned a corner and the wind subsided so she slowed her pace, the cold seeming less severe out of reach of the ceaseless blizzard that raged behind her. Sam moved along the walkway to the end of the stone wall but instead of following the path around the edge of the complex she turned instead up a sloping bank of compressed snow, over the brow and clambered down through a crack in the ice. Beyond she trailed along a tunnel carved out of the compressed snow, twisting downward and growing ever darker and darker until she reached her goal. She could tell she had arrived by the familiar dip in the ground and a change in air pressure and in the darkness she furrowed into her coat to retrieve the flare that she had secreted there.

It hissed and fizzed to life, a bright flash blinding her for a moment until the flames settled into a soft yellow glow and Sam allowed herself to smile a little, gazing around the cavern with wide blue eyes. It was a vast space, the wide curved ceiling studded with enormous icicles that sparkled in the light from the flare in her hand. Beneath, the ice was rippled like a frozen sea surrounded by a perimeter of icy stalagmites that circled the cavern like frosty centurions. She would never cease to be astounded by it's beauty but today she had another goal in mind.

She stabbed the base of the flare in her hand into the ice beside her and cautiously slipped down between the frozen columns, moving along a way before pulling out another flare and setting it to light before lodging it into the floor. The light in the cavern increased, steady and unmoving from the lack of breeze so deep under the surface. Sam stood upright and shoved her hood back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and admiring the magnificence of the place for a moment, her breath misting in front of her face for a second before floating away into the emptiness.

She stepped forward onto the rippling ice and walked across the middle toward the far end of the cave until she reach the other side. She climbed up a way, her palms pushing against the solid ice blocks as she neared her destination, another small gap in the wall and another twisting corridor below. She paused at the entrance and shucked her fur coat to the floor, pulling out another flare and lighting it before she stepped inside. She ran the palm of her gloved hand against the side as she descended, the path twisting and turning until the light of the cavern above was lost. A little further and she would be deeper than she had gone before and she rubbed the extra flare strapped to her thigh in anticipation.

The curves of the tunnel became unfamiliar and her heart pounded in her chest, the thrill of discovery making her steps light and swift. Beyond she could hear a vague sound and was certain it was the ice flow moving through the caverns beneath. She had seen it from the other side, deep within the stone walls of the complex. She had stood on the metal bridge above and watched it creep along. If she could just get a little further she would find it, certain she could follow it along beyond the bridge to the deepest recesses of the earth to the place where she was forbidden to go. No ships ever came to this rock, there were no rings so that only left one possibility. Sam was she sure she would find it there, hidden in the bowels of the fortress.

She chewed her lip as the flare flickered and stopped to consider her options, staring into the flame for a moment and blinking before turning to peer into the dark tunnel ahead. She cursed her impatience, if only she had waited a few more days she could have got more, she could have gone further and she pulled at the spare strapped to her leg to grip it tightly in her hand. She could turn back now and be certain of getting back to the cavern upstairs, familiar enough with the route to find her way to the surface without a light. The light flickered again and dimmed and she took a few calming breaths as the tunnel was plunged into darkness. She could hear the steady creak of the ice ahead and she fumbled, her fingers stiff from cold and exhaled slowly to steady her palms as she set the last flare to light.

The path illuminated once again, Sam took a deep breath and raised her chin and stepped forward. Her decision made she moved purposefully along the tunnel, faster and faster her feet pounded across the hard ground as the sound of the moving ice grew louder. As she moved the tunnel began to lose shape, the ceiling melting into the wall until she felt like she was pressing between two banks of ice. As it narrowed Sam began to panic, raising the flare above her head and peering ahead to see the tunnel virtually disappear as the walls pressed together, the only path a narrow slanted gap. She knew she was close, the sound of the flow beyond was deafening now and a frigid breeze chilled her cheeks. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and pressed on.

She slipped between the ice sheets, leaning further and further to the side as she went deeper until she was crawling. Terror clutched at her heart as the flare flickered and dimmed but she pushed the fear aside, drawing on reserves of courage that came from she knew not where and gasped as a strong wind blasted through the crevice, stealing her breath. The flare flickered and fizzled to a glowing red stump in her hand but it was just enough in the pitch dark for her to see the space growing wider ahead. Dropping the flare she squeezed through and heaved a huge breath as she came out on the other side, pulling her knees up to her chest and sitting back against the ice behind her.

On her hands and knees she crawled forward until the ground gave way beneath her fingers and she flailed about, slipping backward onto the ice and the safety of the ledge. Lying down flat she shuffled forward until her chin was over the edge and she strained to listen, trying to gauge how high above the flow she was and peering in futility into the darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and buried her face in her arms, shivering as she took a sobbing breath, the fabric of her clothes stiff from cold. At this point she was dead anyway, she may as well try a voice inside her head spurred her on. When the panic subsided she rolled onto her back and took several long deep breaths before she pushed up and turned back into her stomach as slowly, slowly she lowered her feet over the edge, clutching the ice in a death grip. She gasped, a ragged sound loud in her ears as she let go, unable to stop the cry of terror that escaped her as her hands left the ice and she slipped down, down until the ice gave way beneath her and she fell through the darkness into the abyss below.

Her first fully formed thought was that she was dead, aware of a bright light behind her eyes as consciousness seeped through her brain. Her eyelids fluttered open and she shifted, her elbow knocking into something hard and she jerked violently, her limbs flailing. She was trapped! She was trapped in the ice and she was going to die! She thrashed about, her eyes flying open in terror and as her hands touched roof of her icy tomb there was a loud, grating sound and she gasped. She stilled and let her head drop back, blinking rapidly as brightness subsided and her eyes fell upon the dark panels of the ceiling beyond.

When she had calmed, Sam slowly pushed up to a sitting position, scanning the familiar room over the side of the sarcophagus. She swallowed and climbed out to pad naked across the room towards the open doorway to one side. A large bed dominated the room beyond and at the foot a dress was laid out across the blankets. Sam wrapped her arms about herself and shivered, despite the fire that crackled steadily in the corner. When she had dressed she stood in front of it for a long time watching the flames, soothed by their gentle flickering. She rubbed her arms and even though the fire was just for effect, she was glad for it, comforted somehow by it in the midst of the bleak icy landscape and the endless snow.

After a while the growling in her stomach drove her out of the bedroom in search of food but she stopped for moment to stare at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall. Sam wasn't sure who the woman staring back at her was, the long blonde hair and the form fitting gown that wrapped around her body to trail elegantly on the floor behind seemed incongruous with the idea of herself she had in her head. Her mind was chaotic and jumbled from too long in the sarcophagus and she had only disjointed fragments of her life before. There were some things she seemed to know intuitively but there was nothing clear about her memories. It was no real challenge to get the panel off the wall, to make the doors slide open and not much more difficult to steal away into the stores and hide flares under her clothes, for all the good it did her. Whatever ideas she had about escaping were blown out of the water now. She blinked and turned away from the mirror, walking out of the bedroom and into the chamber beyond.

Laid out in the next room were several elegant dishes of food, fruits and salads and a roasted bird. At the end stood a jewel encrusted decanter and beside it a single, long stemmed glass with beautiful patterns etched across it's surface. Sam lifted her gaze across the table and locked eyes with the figure reclined in the huge, carved wooden chair behind, dark eyes peering at her over the rim of the glass in his hand. She swallowed, her fists bunching in the fabric of her dress but she did not look away.

Baal took a slow drink and shifted in the chair, stretching his arm out and letting the glass hang between his fingers as he watched her with a dark, brooding expression. The wood snapped in the fireplace on the wall and Sam dropped her gaze to the food on the table as her stomach rumbled loudly in the silent room.

“Hungry?” Baal asked in a low voice. Sam rubbed her lips together and did not reply, turning her head to stare at the ornamental glyphs around the fireplace instead. “I'm not sure that I should let you eat,” he drawled lazily, swirling the contents of the glass around and Sam raised her chin to look at him. “Perhaps a few days without food would...encourage you to be a little more....obedient.” Sam felt a flicker of hatred at his words and clenched her jaw. Baal exhaled a loud breath, anger simmering beneath his hard stare and he watched her silently for a long moment, working his jaw before he dropped his foot to the floor. Rising from the chair he set the glass down on the table and slowly walked towards her. Sam felt her heart thump in her chest as he approached and kept her eyes fixed on the fire as he moved closer. She would not flinch, she told herself. She would not be afraid.

“Did I not forbid you from entering the caves?” he growled but she did not respond and he heaved a sigh of displeasure.“You play to heavily upon my affection for you Samantha,” he breathed menacingly into her ear and she shuddered in spite of herself, her blood singing in her veins at his proximity. Naquadah, a voice inside her head whispered, you have naquadah in your blood.

She started a little as his hands cupped her elbows, his fingers sliding across her sleeves to grip her forearms tightly in his large hands. He nuzzled her hair with the tip of his nose, the rough fuzz of his beard scratching her cheek and she twisted her head back as his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her close against him. “I should punish you,” he uttered and she shivered uncontrollably. “I want to punish you.”

She gasped as his hand moved up across her body to wrap around her throat, the other clutching at her hip as he pressed against her from behind and Sam could not mistake the evidence of his arousal through the thin fabric of her dress. Her body ached, a consequence of the naquadah perhaps or the learned response to his touch, she didn't know but she was not afraid as he tipped her head back and forced her to meet his stare.

Sam had been subjected to Baal's 'discipline' before and she did not resist as he roughly tipped her head back and claimed her lips in an angry kiss, his free hand roaming her body to squeeze at her breasts. She did not fight the moan that rose up within her as he released his grip on her neck to grab the sleeves of her gown and drag it unceremoniously down her shoulders, the shimmering fabric pooling in a heap at her feet. Baal let out a shuddering breath as his gazed dropped, his eyes running across her body hungrily before his fingers tangled into her hair. His arm stretched about her waist and Sam let out a yelp of surprise as he spun her around and bent her over the table, her arms splaying out wide and the palms of her hands slipping across the polished wood with a squeal.

Baal ground against her furiously, the rough material of his pants scratching against her center as he pressed his knee between her legs and shifted her feet apart. Sam whimpered as his hand tightened in her hair and her cheek pressed against the table as his other hand wandered across her back, squeezing her ass firmly before brushing across her pubic hair with his palm. She shuddered and groaned at the hot stab of pleasure between her legs and he pressed his crotch against her, trapping his hand between the table and her clit. She panted for breath as his fingers splayed, dragging down across the throbbing nub to slide between the folds of her pussy and back again. The fingers in her hair released their grip and stroked roughly down her side to grip her hip and shove her forward, up onto the table as he pressed two fingers inside.

Sam's eyes flew open and her arms flailed wildly as she tried to get a grip on something, anything but all she succeeded in doing was sending a large plate of food clattering to the ground. Baal growled through his teeth and closed his fingers around her legs, bending them up and shoving her forward. Her knees collided with the hard wood and she could not help from gasping out as Baal grabbed her hip again, his other hand pressing down between her shoulders. Her back arched, curving upwards so that her pussy was completely exposed to him and she twitched as the cool air hit her aching flesh.

“Oh yes, my sweet,” he leered as he ran his fingers along the crease of her ass, dipping inside her and twisting his wrist. Her clit throbbed and she couldn't resist the compulsion to twist her hips as he fucked her with his fingers, the hard points of her nipples scraping across the cold wood with each jerk of his wrist. “I wonder,” he taunted in a deep, rumbling voice that made her burn, “how long should I make you beg? Hmm?” Sam mewled pathetically, twisting her neck but unable move under the inhuman strength of his hand between her shoulders. Baal's fingers slipped out of the hot, wet recesses of her pussy to slide across her skin and probe at the the tight bud of her anus. He pressed a finger inside and laughed as she began to pant uncontrollably under his ministrations, gasping loudly as he pulled his hand away and pulled her upright against his hard body. “No, I think you enjoy that a little too much, Samantha. Not really an adequate punishment in the circumstances,” he uttered with dark amusement, his lips pressed against her ear and she let out a shuddering, choking breath as he cupped her chin and turned her face towards him.

Sam met his gaze with wide eyes, her heart thumping erratically in her chest and she trembled in his arms. Baal gave her a lazy smile and nudged her cheek with his nose. “I think, Samantha,” he began, slipping a finger between her lips and forcing her mouth open. “That you ought to apologize, hmmm?” She swallowed loudly, his eyes never leaving hers and nodded. His smile grew wider.

“I'm.....I'm sorry,” she breathed as his wet fingers trailed across her chin and he regarded her sceptically for a moment.

“I'm not sure that I believe you,” he said coolly and she whimpered.

“Please,” she sobbed, a desperate, needy sound and his eyes drooped, his lips pressing lightly to her cheek.

“Why don't you show me how sorry you are, my darling, hmmm?” his replied in a ragged voice. She gulped and his arms slipped around her body, pulling her back slowly from the table to stand once again. Sam let her eyes fall closed as he caressed her arms gently for a moment and then stepped back, leaving her trembling and naked before him. “Turn around,” he commanded and slowly she twisted around to see him standing a few feet away, silhouetted by the fire behind. She raised her chin and met his gaze, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the shadows of his face. Sam could hear blood roaring in her ears, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

“Come,” Baal uttered darkly and she obeyed, meekly stepping closer as his gaze ran up and down her naked body appreciatively. “Kiss me,” he murmured and she craned her neck and pressed her lips to his, her hands cupping his face as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Baal made no move to touch her, his arms held in a loose circle around her shoulders, just out of reach. His eyes fell closed and he hummed in approval as she kissed him.

She could not fight the overwhelming arousal that coiled through her body, could not deny that for everything she loathed and despised about him he drove her mad with desire. As she stood there now, kissing him, she felt she might burst into flame, that the slightest touch of his hand might send her spiralling into oblivion. “My lord,” she whispered against his lips and he wrapped his arms around her in a fierce embrace, holding her tight against him.

Sam's eyes flew open when he pulled her suddenly away from him, sucking in a breath of surprise and Baal licked his lips, his nostrils flaring as he looked at her hungrily. His eyelids fluttered and his breath came in short, sharp pants. “On your knees,” he said, a breathy whispering sound and she complied, slowly sinking to crouch before him, her hands running across his chest. She raised her head to see him watching her through slitted eyes as slowly she began to loosen the buckle of his belt, easing the buttons of his fly open and pushing the fabric aside.

The muscles of her pussy clenched at the sight of his thick cock, the memory of the wide, blunt head sliding inside of her making her inhale a stuttering breath. Sam leaned closer to place a kiss at the base of his erection, sliding her lips down across his balls. She ran the flat of her tongue along the underside of his sac, sucking on his balls one by one before sliding her hand across his thigh to stroke a finger across his perineum. Baal smiled wickedly down at her as she caressed him, dragging her lips up his length and sucking the swollen head of his cock into her mouth. He groaned loudly as she swirled her tongue across his hot flesh, tickling the sensitive ridge underneath before opening her mouth wide and swallowing his throbbing length.

Baal gasped and tipped his head back, emitting a long, guttural moan as she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue teasing the leaking tip of his erection before taking him deeply again. She cupped his balls in one hand, massaging them with her fingers as she stroked along his perineum and around to his anus and back again with the other. He snapped his back to look down at her with a wide, lustful stare, growling in pleasure as she took him deeply into her throat.

Her knees began to ache where they were pressed against the stone floor beneath her and Sam might have supposed that was the point, if she were capable of coherent thought at that moment. She had grown accustomed to his inhuman stamina and his unnatural appetites in the months she had been here. Was it months or was it years? She could not tell the passing of days, hidden away beneath the ice where there was no dawn and no dusk. She whiled away the days scouring every corner of the complex and beyond for a way off this rock. That or spent the time much as she was now, locked away in a space where she forgot everything, where even the stray threads of her tattered memories melted away and she was nothing more than seething mass of lust, her only desire the pleasure of her master. It was not without reward but even the pleasure could not diminish the flame of hatred for him that burned in her heart.

He shuddered and jerked his hips, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head away roughly. “Enough!” he barked and Sam gazed up at him, trembling uncontrollably as met his eyes. Gasping she clutched at his legs and pressed her face against his thigh as he stroked the palm of his hand across her crown. “Come here,” he said, his voice tight and Sam swallowed hard as his fingers looped about her wrists and pulled her close. Baal kissed her deeply on the mouth and she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her fingernails scraping against his scalp until he pulled back and landed a stinging slap on her backside.

Sam was limp and compliant in his arms and let out a hoarse cry as his hand came down hard on her skin again but the sound caught in her throat as he spun her around and shoved her forward, a hand pushing hard on the back of her head. Baal tugged her arms behind her back, gripping her wrists hard in his hand as his fingers tangled in her hair. Sam whimpered at the feel of his cock pressing firmly between her legs to slide across the wetness leaking down her thighs as she stood bent over before him in the middle of the room . “I'm going to fuck you now, Samantha,” Baal snarled. “Perhaps if I had fucked you harder before you would not have defied me!” Sam sobbed, her face twisted in a grimace as his cock nudged inside a little way for before Baal slammed into her hard.

Sam did not even try to contain the loud piercing cry that escaped her as he drove into her mercilessly, her face screwing up in a grimace of pleasure, the sound of his balls slapping against her skin loud in the silent room. After a minute her sobs subsided and her breath hitched, short sharp pants that fell out of her chest unintended with each jarring thrust of his thick, cock inside her.

Baal held her arms ever tighter and her shoulders twinged painfully under his grip, grunting loudly behind her. The sharp tug on her hair served only to set her body more on edge and her clit throbbed, a hot, pulsing feeling that spread through her lower body even as she lost sensation in her arms. Sam whined in desperation and Baal growled in assent, his fingers loosening their hold on her hair to slide firmly down her neck to clasp her shoulder.

“Yes,” he snarled, behind, his voice hitching as he grew closer to the edge, his breath loud and fast as he thrust into her over and over again. He let out a loud choking sound and grit his teeth, releasing his grip on her arms to hold her by the shoulders. Sam's grabbed blindly behind her, a dull pain spreading through her arms as they dropped downward without his support, her nails scratching against hard leather as her fingers clutched at his coat. “Yes! Yes!” Baal chanted raggedly punctuating each word with a thrust until his breath stuttered and he pulled out of her. Sam cried out, her arms flailing wildly and the vertebrae of her spine cracking loudly as he pulled her up and roughly turned her around.

His eyes glowed fiercely and Sam clutched at the stiff fabric of his coat as her hands collided with his chest. Before she could make another sound, Baal pushed her down onto her knees, the bone colliding hard with the cold stone floor beneath as he pulled her head back, his fingers in her hair. Sam let out a cry of discomfort and when she opened her eyes she saw the deranged look on Baal's face, his lips curled back across his teeth in a warped smile of lust and power as he wrapped his other hand around the base of his cock and let out a long, guttural snarl, his hot seed splashing across her face as he came.

The room was filled with loud rasp of his breath and Sam slowly opened her eyes to meet his lazy stare, his eyes slitted as he peered down at her. She breathed in short, hitching breaths, trembling on the floor before him as he gently stroked his fingers over the drying semen on her face, stroking across her lips with the rough pads of his fingertips as he pressed a digit into her mouth. Sam obediently sucked on them and let her eyes fall closed again, his hands in her hair as her head fell forward, her forehead coming to rest against his thigh.

“Go into the bedroom” he uttered darkly and Sam turned her head to stare across the room at the darkened doorway. “Wait for me there.” His voice was rough, less menacing but none the less commanding than before. She gripped onto his coat as she pulled herself up, her eyes flicking up to meet his passive stare before she turned and walked towards the bedroom with her head down.

Silently she entered and crawled across the bed on her hands and knees, conscious of his eyes on her exposed body. She sat back, her palms flat against the mattress and her legs stretched out before her. Her hair tumbled down her back and the hard nubs of her nipples stood out on her chest and Baal stood watching her from the fireplace. She dared not raise her head to meet his hot gaze as he stepped closer to the table and poured himself a glass of wine, sipping it slowly as he walked with measured steps towards the bedroom to stand in the doorway.

Time passed, Sam was not sure how long it was as she waited as his dark silhouette watched her from the door. She swallowed when eventually he turned to set his glass down on a gilded chest inside the room, the sound of glass on metal loud in her ears.

“You are a beautiful creature Samantha,” he said as began to pull his belt from around his waist, flexing the stiff leather in his hands before slapping it hard into his palm. Sam flinched at the sound, her muscles tensing as the instinct to flee took hold of her. Baal set it down purposefully on the chest beside him and unbuttoned the cuffs of his coat, letting it fall away to crumple in a heap on the floor. She watched as his clothing was cast aside and the sculpted lines of his torso were revealed, her body thrumming with anticipation as he picked up the belt again and stepped closer naked to the waist.

Sam fell back against the sheets with a gasp as he grabbed her ankles in his hands and pulled her towards the edge of the bed, her legs splayed wide before him. Her jerked her roughly upright and she stared with wide eyes at the belt in his hand, the cold metal of the buckle digging into her arm as his breath tickled her face as he spoke. “Should I beat you?” he growled and she shuddered, inhaling a rasping breath as he shook her roughly in his arms. “I should beat you senseless. All I have done for you and you still reject my kindness” Sam's face screwed up as he yelled, ducking her head away to one side as he raised his arm.

“No, please,” she sobbed.

“You are in no position to be making demands!” he snapped, shaking her hard and Sam whimpered, her palms pressed flat against the hard muscles of his chest and she closed her eyes, burying her nose against the warm skin of his neck. With a snarl Baal shoved her back against the bed, turning away to hurl the belt hard across the room. It uncoiled like a serpent as it flew, slapping hard against the wall with a loud crack before sliding down to fall heavily onto the chest, sending the glass tumbling to the floor smashing to pieces, the broken shards scattering like diamonds across the stone tiles.

Baal stood beside the bed, glowering at her fiercely, his chest heaving as he took long loud breaths for a long minute. Sam lay across the bed, shaking uncontrollably, her eyes fixed on the panels on the ceiling above as she gripped the sheet in her fists. She started when a firm hand stroked down her thigh, pulling her down the bed. Baal brushed his knuckles against the thatch of pubic hair between her legs and Sam moaned and bucked her hips up towards his touch, her lip trembling as he ran his fingertips between the wet folds of her centre.“Touch yourself!” he commanded and with shaking hands, Sam met his eyes and began to stroke her palms across her body.

She circled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger, pinching gently as she twisted her wrist around while the other hand moved ever lower. He watched like a hawk as her fingers trailed down across her stomach to slide between her legs, his eyes fixed to the sight of her long digits parting the pink flesh. He licked his lips as she circled her clit, unable to hold back the shuddering moan of pleasure that rippled through her body. Unable to resist the compulsion, Baal let his hand join hers, pressing to fingers easily into the slick, damp heat of her pussy and pressing deeply inside. Sam's hips rose up off the bed, jerking against his hand as she caught her clit between her fingers once again.

“See, my sweet,” Baal drawled lazily and she watched as he held his fingers in the air, the evidence of her arousal glistening in the dim light. Idly he rubbed them against the pad of his thumb. “See how your body craves my touch even as your mind despises me.”

She stared back at him, clenching her teeth to hide the tremble of her jaw and Baal smiled victoriously at her before reaching down to run the flat of his tongue over her exposed flesh. Sam sobbed loudly, twitching at the shock of electricity his touch sent through her body as the tip of his tongue swirled around and around the throbbing nub between her legs, his fingers twisting around and around inside of her. She grabbed his head in her hands, grinding her wet pussy desperately against his face as his tongue continued it's relentless torment. When his lips closed around her clit she could not fight the sudden wave of pleasure that washed through her body, a hot, tingling sensation spreading out from her centre and through her limbs. Sam reared up off the bed, crying out uncontrollably and the muscles of her pussy clenched tight around his long fingers as she came.

Flopping back against the sheets, her body went limp and her eyes fell closed. Baal peered up across her body, ceasing the motion of his tongue against her and pushing up onto his arms as he regarded her prone form beneath him. Idly he stroked the pads of his fingers across the oozing wetness of her pussy, speaking in low, rumbling tones that made her clit ache.

“You belong to me, Samantha. I will never allow you to forget that,” Baal told her darkly before turning away and walking out of the room, the soles of his boots crunching loudly on the broken glass as she lay shivering on the bed behind him.

querulouspeg — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 00:51:15 GMT

Title: Love, Lies & Lizard Babies
Pairing: Helen/OMC
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. You know it. I know it. 'Nuff said.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Just so you know. Violence, foul language, sex eventually.
Summary: The porny chapter.

Jason shifted under the blanket and twisted to the side, his face pressing into the pillow. His nose twitched and he reached up to rub his finger across his lip, his eyes opening wide when he found his hand in Helen's hair. Her head was tucked in under his chin, his arm buried under her neck and he swallowed as he ran his eyes down to find her flush against his body, her round ass pressing dangerously into his groin. He opened his mouth and took a deep, calming breath, staring at the wall and rubbing his free hand across his forehead as he considered that his first instinct about this woman had been correct. She was definitely, undeniably, categorically trouble.

Helen squirmed against him and muttered something incomprehensible in her sleep, her legs shifting so that her ass ground against him torturously. Jason closed his eyes and laid his arm flat against his side, clenching his fist to prevent himself from running his hand across the tempting swell of her hip. She shifted again, her hand coming up to grasp at his arm, trying to move it about under her head as though it were a pillow. He used the opportunity to roll onto his back and slightly away from her, clenching his eyes tightly shut and willing himself back to sleep.

Helen clawed at the pillow under her head. It was decidedly hard and uncomfortable as she pressed her face into it and she scowled. Her nose nudged the inside of his elbow, the masculine scent of him filling her nostrils and her eyes opened slowly. Groggily, she rolled onto her front, her nose brushing up the inside of his bicep as she turned her head. Oh my, she thought as her legs brushed against his. This is most.....awkward, a voice in her head told her as her eyes roamed across Jason's broad, toned chest and she couldn't help from stretching her fingers out to brush lightly against his side. His skin was unbearably soft and warm and she licked her lips, chewing on them thoughtfully as she regarded his sleeping countenance. He sniffed and she shut her eyes quickly, twisting her head so that her face pressed close against his shoulder. It was unconscionable, she really ought to leave him be but it had been a long time since she'd had the pleasure of snuggling up against a warm, male body and the compulsion was irresistible. Feigning sleep she let her arm snake across his stomach and around his hip, nuzzling his skin and unable to contain the soft sigh that escaped her.

Cracking open one eye Helen peered across his chest, an erect pink nipple just level with her eyeball and after a moment's hesitation, she let her hand slide up to stroke through the coarse dark hair that peppered his torso. Jason shifted a little and she crooked her knee, her thigh sliding across his so that she was now pressed snugly against him. His hip bone pressed firmly between her legs, nudging against her center and Helen ached to rub against him. She swallowed and listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest equal parts soothing and arousing as the slippery fabric of the shorts he had given her rubbed against her mound. Biting back a moan, Helen tried to take a few calming breaths. She wasn't sure how he might respond to her unsolicited caresses although she had noticed his appreciative gaze more than once since they first met hours ago.

Her eyes flew open. Hours, she had only known this man a few hours and here she was draped across him half dressed, considering how best to approach the rather delicate matter of getting into his jeans. She closed her eyes again, silently chastising herself and exhaling loudly. Her hot breath brushed across his nipple and he let out a gasp as a jolt of arousal shot through his body straight to his groin.

Helen's eyes opened at the sound and her brows furrowed as she realised he had been awake the entire time. She turned her head to look at his face through narrowed eyes. The sneaky bastard, she fumed and slipped her hand across his torso to pinch his nipple in revenge. Jason's eyes flew open and he yelped in surprised, panting ever so slightly and turning his head to meet her devilish gaze. “Helen,” he croaked. “This is a...uh...surprise.”

“Hmm,” she chuffed sceptically, her nose pressed against the curved muscle of his chest as her fingers drummed against his ribcage. Jason let his head fall back against the pillow and took a few short, rasping breaths, his tongue worrying his lower lip. Helen watched his Adam's Apple bob in his throat and pursed her lips before pushing up to roll across him, pinning him between her long, powerful legs. Her palms pressed flat against the pillow either side of his head and she glared down at him, her hair curling wildly around her face and down her shoulders.

Jason looked up into her huge blue eyes and stared at her for a long moment, transfixed. She was impossibly gorgeous, this crazy mysterious woman and let his eyes wander down across the long column of her neck, over the delicate bones in her shoulder and longed to dip his tongue into the notch at the base of her throat. Helen regarded him through slitted eyes and watched as his pink tongue poked out to swipe across his lips, unable to resist shifting her hips against him as she wondered how the rough fuzz of his beard would feel scratching against the tender flesh of her inner thigh. She clenched her hands into fists, her nails scraping loudly against the fabric of the pillow behind his head as she spoke.

“How long have you been awake?” she growled and he swallowed again, huffing out a nervous breath.

“Oh, a little while,” Jason responded meekly and gave her a contrite smile. Helen's lips curved up evilly, gratified by his submissive tone and let her hands slide her hands across his torso as she sat upright. Jason bit his tongue as her hips pressed against him and his hands moved ever so slightly across her knees to rest on her thighs. Helen quirked a brow at him thoughtfully.

“You fell asleep,” she explained in low tones. “I was just....making sure you weren't cold.”

“By getting into bed with me?” he asked, amused. Helen raised her chin and shook her hair out of her face. She shrugged her shoulders in phoney indifference but couldn't help emitting a little “Oh” of breath when the slippery fabric of her shorts slid across his hard lump in his jeans. Jason groaned and let his fingers dig into the flesh of her thighs for a second before sliding his hands up across her soft, skin to grip her hips. He reached one hand around to press against the small of her back and the other came up between her shoulder blades as he pulled himself upright suddenly and held her in a firm grasp.

“What are you doing?” he said menacingly and Helen huffed indignantly, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“What am I doing?” she retorted in an irritated tone, her breath tickling his face. “You were the one pretending to be asleep!”

Jason narrowed his eyes at her and she squirmed in his embrace, her erect nipples scraping across his bare chest through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. He groaned loudly, his eyes losing focus as her mound rubbed against his erection through his pants. Helen's mouth fell open and she grimaced as pleasure shot up through her abdomen, her clit throbbing hotly between her legs. “Oh my,” she gasped.

Jason reached down to her ass, cupping one pert, round cheek and squeezing. “Don't tease,” he warned looking her straight in the eye and Helen tightened her grip on his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh before sliding one hand around the back of his head and pulling him closer. She pressed her lips against his mouth and hungrily sucked on his lips and Jason let his free hand slide up to tangle in her hair as her hot tongue pressed against his mouth insistently until her it snaked into his mouth, warm and wet. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed for all he was worth and Helen growled happily, shoving him back roughly by the shoulders.

He fell onto the pillows with a huff of surprise but before he could protest her lips descended on him again. Jason let his hands slide around her waist and trailed his fingertips lightly against the soft skin of her back and she jerked into his touch as one hand skimmed around her side to cup her breast. She squirmed against him and shrugged her shoulders as he pulled her t-shirt over her head. His eyes immediately fell to the lush mounds of her breasts and her eyes closed as he ran his fingers gently across her pert nipples, her head tipping back with a long sigh as he gently pinched them between the V of his fingers. Her nails scraped lightly across his chest as she twisted her hips in a circle against the bulge in his jeans. Jason groaned, his eyes narrowing to slits as she leaned back across him, her breath coming in short, sharp pants and she chewed on her lower lip as she peered down at him.

“You are so....” he began but she cut him off with another wet kiss. Leaning forward, she grasped his hands and guided them down to her hips. Jason hooked his fingers under the elastic of her shorts and she pushed up on her knees as he tugged them down across her thighs, gazing at him with sleepy eyes from between the tangled locks of hair that fell about her face. She smiled softly as she lifted her leg to kick the shorts across the bed, settling back against him and stroking her hands through the coarse hair on his chest.

“Helen,” he uttered softly, his eyes trailing after his fingertips as he caressed down across her breasts, over the soft swell of her stomach to the dark thatch of curls between her legs. Her stomach twitched at the shock of static that his touch elicited and she sighed before leaning forward, grasping the metal bedstead and looking down to watch as he pressed his face in the valley between her breasts. She moaned languidly and let her eyes fall closed as Jason ran his lips across her soft skin, pressing the flat of his tongue along the crease under her breast before sucking a nipple into his mouth. One hand stroked lazily up her thigh and around her hip, his fingers brushing the crease of her buttocks as he gripped her round cheek in his palm.

Helen jerked at the contact, tipping her hips back into his hand and he stroked his fingers down between the curls of her pubic hair.

“Oh please,” she drawled, peering down at his face as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. Jason licked his lips and let his hand stroke back round, trailing across her hip bone to slip between her legs. His other hand moved up across her back and around her neck, his fingers running through her hair and across her cheek as he pressed his thumb between the soft folds of her pussy to find her deliciously wet. Helen turned her face into his hand and sucked his thumb into her mouth and he groaned.

“You are so sexy,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly and Helen hummed in response, cradling his fingers in her tongue and pressing her hips into his touch. He circled her clit lazily with his thumb, stroking back and forth across her centre before pushing one finger inside. She jerked, bearing down against his hand with a cry and he chuckled. He watched her through slitted eyes as she rocked up and down, his gaze running over her beautiful round breasts and up to her face, twisted in pleasure as he slipped his wet fingers across her aching flesh to stroke across her puckered anus and back again.

Helen's eyes flew open and she scratched her fingernails over the skin on his shoulders. “Now who's teasing?” she groused playfully, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. Jason pouted at her and pressed two fingers inside in retaliation, twisting his wrist and smirking victoriously at her shuddering gasp.

Helen ran her palms down across his chest, scraping her nails lightly over his sensitive nipples and leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. Jason slipped his tongue into her mouth briefly, huffing in protest when she pulled away. She nuzzled his beard with the tip of her nose and trailed kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Her fingers stroked down his sides gently and his stomach twitched as her nails scraped the sensitive spots where his stomach gave way to his hips. His eyes fell closed and he curled his fingers into her hair, his other hand slipping from between her legs to trail wetly across her hip as she slid down over his body.

Helen grinned at him wickedly as she cupped his straining erection through his pants and he exhaled loudly, groaning at the hot bolts pleasure that coursed through his body straight to his cock. Slowly she began to unbutton his jeans, her elegant fingers working his fly and scraping teasingly across his hipbones as she pulled the material down. She raised an eyebrow at his lack of underwear but Jason was too turned on to notice, unable to focus on anything but her hot breath on his aching cock. Helen pushed up on her arms for a moment as she inspected her latest discovery, sucking her lip into her teeth as she admired the gentle curve of his erection, the swollen tip glistening and red. He was deliciously thick and she groaned at the thought of him filling her, the muscles of her pussy clenching with anticipation.

He watched through slitted eyes as she nuzzled the coarse hair at the base of his cock, her tongue snaking out to swipe teasingly along the underside of his balls. “Ah, Jesus!” he cried, his hips jerking off the bed as she sucked on them one at a time before pressing little kisses along the base of his erection. He twitched at the contact and she chuckled, leaning forward and pressing the flat of her tongue against his swollen flesh to run her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet lick.

“Fuck!” he uttered, gasping in great shuddering breaths as her warm tongue circled around the head of his cock, flicking at the ridge at the tip before she took him in deeply. She twisted her head around from side to side as her lips slid up and down torturously over him, her hum of pleasure reverberating through his entire body. His hands flew up to tangle in her hair as he hit the back of her throat and he watched open mouthed as her head bobbed up and down, around and around, over and over.

He clutched at the bed sheets, willing his hips not to thrust but the instinct was too strong, the pleasure too overwhelming. He swallowed, his eyes falling shut and he clenched his teeth, tugging roughly on her hair. “Stop! Stop,” he choked and she let him slide from between her lips with a wet smack before peering up at him, her face flushed and her eyes wide. “Come here,” he urged sounding utterly stricken and Helen pushed up on her knees towards him. Jason cupped her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely, wrapping one arm around her and pressing her close against his chest. Helen moaned into his mouth and stroked her nails gently across his scalp until he pulled away, lying back across the bed and cupping her ass firmly again. She peered down at his wild expression as he urged her up his body, her pussy trailing wetly across his torso, the hairs on his chest tickling her center as she clasped the metal bedstead in her fingers. It creaked as she pulled herself forward and she gasped loudly as he kissed his way up her thigh, his beard scratching deliciously against her quivering flesh as his mouth sucked wetly across her skin.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled as his mouth pressed hotly over the soft pink lips of her pussy and Helen jerked uncontrollably against his face, the bedstead creaking loudly as her arms tensed at the pleasure. She began to moan uncontrollably as he gripped her hip firmly with one hand as the other ran up the side over her body, cupping her breast for a moment before sliding up around her neck and across her face. Her breath was hot against his palm as he buried his fingers in her hair, her head tipping back as she let out a long wail of pleasure. Her circled her clit over and over before sucking it fully between his lips, the bedstead squealing in protest as Helen yanked it away from the wall.

“Oh my, oh Juh..,” she cooed dropping her head to her chin to peer down at him with dark eyes, her mouth falling open as she watched him between her thighs. His hands dropped to cup her ass again and he squeezed, parting her cheeks with his fingers. She shuddered as the cool air hit the burning heat of her wet pussy and he nuzzled her clit with his nose as his tongue slipped inside her. Arousal coiled in her belly, her breath coming in loud, rasping pants and she let her hand drop to stroke across his face. She twisted her hips in a circle and Jason moaned in delight, his eyes falling closed as he swirled his tongue across her clit over and over. Helen inhaled a sharp breath as her orgasm crawled ever closer, tension coiling in her limbs until eventually she arched her back, gripping madly onto the bedstead. Her head fell back and she let out a long, shuddering moan, her hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure spiked through her as she came.

Lazily, Helen slipped down across his chest and slumped to one side, breathing hard as she buried her face in his shoulder. Jason grinned against her hair, one hand stroking across the back of the head, the other running up and down her side. Pushing up on her elbow Helen regarded him through hooded eyes, her mouth falling open as she took loud huffs of breath. Her eyes fell to his lips and she swallowed, reaching out to run her fingertips through the fuzz of his beard. Jason sucked her fingers into his mouth and looked at her with a dark expression, running his palm across her arm and into her hair. Helen squinted at him, licking her lips as she reached forward and cupped his face in her hands.

He was wound tight like a spring and Helen could feel his heart thrumming in his chest as she moved to straddle his chest again, pressing her mouth to his with a satisfied hum. She pushed up on her forearms and trailed her fingertips over his face gently, sucking on the inside of her cheek as she considered prone form beneath her, his dark and lustful stare. She chewed on her lower lip and let her eyes follow the path of her hands as she scraped her nails along his arms towards his shoulders, stroking along his collarbone and wrapping her hands lightly around his throat. Jason began to pant wildly and she could feel his Adam's Apple bob under her palms. She pursed her lips and looked at his face through slitted eyes, smiling wickedly as she began to caress down his chest. Her fingers traced across his nipples lightly, down around his sides and she bent forward to pepper kisses across his chest as her wet center brushed teasingly over his throbbing erection.

He gasped and jerked his hips up instinctively so Helen pushed up onto her knees and gave him a lazy smile as her fingers wrapped around the base of him. The head of his cock slipped torturously across her sensitive, wet folds to nudge her clit, still tingling from her earlier orgasm and she moaned softly. Slowly she raised her hips and his cock trailed hotly along her entrance to slide between the crease of her ass and back again and they both hissed at the pleasure of it.

“Jesus,” he uttered through clenched teeth, beads of sweat visible over his brow as she teased him and Helen chuckled, leaning forward slightly to grip the head of the bed once more before sinking down slowly onto him. Jason's eyes slipped shut as his head fell back against the pillow, his hands coming to rest on her hips as she began to move over him. Helen watched his expression, the look of ecstasy painted across his face made her ache as she gripped the bedstead and pulled up, squeezing her muscles around him as she did so before releasing him and sliding back down hard, making him groan. She fucked him slowly for a while, the room quiet but for the sound of their heavy breathing and the hush of rain outside the window.

Jason let his eyes fall to where they were joined and watched with dark eyes as she sank down onto his swollen cock over and over. He exhaled loudly, a long shuddering breath and moved his hands around to squeeze her ass, his fingers kneading the smooth round cheeks firmly making her gasp and moan in delight as she began to move faster. Helen ground against him furiously, her eyes screwing shut tightly and the bedstead thumping against the wall loudly as she gripped it tightly. Jason gripped her ass, his strong arms guiding her up and down as the bed creaked with the force her movements. His mouth formed an O and he began to pant, short sharp breaths as his thighs and stomach tingled, his balls clenching as pleasure started to seep through his body to pool around groin. He swallowed hard and slipped his hand between their bodies, stroking his thumb over her clit in ragged strokes, urging her on in low, rumbling tones. Helen screwed her face up and whined, pouting her lips as she began to jerk against him erratically. Jason wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck and thrust his hips upwards, his thick cock banging into her with a hard wet slap. Helen choked out a sob and cried out, her hands falling to his shoulders to dig her nails into his flesh as his thumb dragged over her throbbing clit once more and she came. Jason gasped as her muscles clenched around his cock, pounding into her with sloppy wet thrusts as she sagged forward slightly, trembling as another orgasm rippled through her body. Her eyes opened and she peered down at him, her hair falling forward around her face and their gazes met for a brief moment before he shuddered and came hotly inside her, his head lifting off the pillows before he collapsed back against them with a long, guttural moan.

Helen hummed lazily and reached forward, nuzzling his face with her nose and pressing her lips to his mouth. Jason's arms came up to wrap around her, his fingers winding through her hair as she kissed him slowly for a long minute before she unceremoniously slouched to the side and fell asleep, the soft buzz of her snore in his ear.

querulouspeg — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 21:00:55 GMT

Title: Love, Lies & Lizard Babies
Pairing: Helen/OMC
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. You know it. I know it. 'Nuff said.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Just so you know. Violence, foul language, sex eventually.
Summary: Helen and Jason head home to dry off.

Helen dragged Jason away, the toes of his boots scuffing on the stone as he moved with lumbering, heavy movements. “Come on!” she urged.

“I can't believe it,” he muttered. “I just...” he shook his head and fell silent. Helen clasped his hand firmly and set a brisk pace up the hill. Halfway up Helen turned down a track between the houses and lead him off the main road. The track was lined with garages and wooden fences, a furrow of grass running along the centre between deep tire tracks. Helen tried to skirt the great puddles that formed in the uneven ground but her boots slipped on the mud, soaking her feet. Her toes itched and she wriggled them inside her damp socks, sniffing loudly as she led him along the path.

They trudged along in silence for a while, the sound of the rain loud against the rooftops. Helen took them across another street and straight over onto a similar dirt track. She was cold and wet and longed for the huge tub in her hotel suite but they were miles across town. Jason followed silently behind her, his feet splashing noisily in the mud. She was aware of the sound of sirens in the distance and anxiously pressed her lips together, looking up and down another stretch of track that bisected their path. She glanced up at Jason with a questioning look on her face but he seemed miles away so she scowled and tutted before turning to the left with a huff. Further down, the track forked in two and Helen shrugged her shoulders and let out a loud breath.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked with a sigh and when he didn't reply she turned to look up at him, a raindrop hanging from the end of his nose for a second before running down over his lips and and into his beard. “Jay?” she questioned, blowing ineffectually against a strand of hair that had stuck to her lip. “JASON!” she repeated loudly and jerked on his hand roughly. He blinked and sucked the moisture off his lips, looking around blearily.

“This is ridiculous,” she continued, digging in her pocket to retrieve her phone and turning to shelter under the narrow overhang of a tin roof that stuck out over a nearby wall.

“What are you doing?” .

“Calling a cab,” she replied, her eyes flicking up to him for a second and wiping a large raindrop from the screen with the pad of her thumb. “I'm cold, I'm hungry and I just want to get out of the rain,” she complained.

“Huh, don't bother,” he told her gruffly and Helen raised her head look at him with furrowed brows. Jason lifted his arm in response, his finger pointing in the distance behind her. “That's my house.”

A little while later Helen was following him up the steps at the back of his house, a wiry tabby cat shadowing them along the top of the fence as they crossed the garden. Helen stood to one side, rubbing her forearms and casting her eye across the clouds, the sky brightening as the sun began to rise behind them. There was a rapid tapping sound as water poured from the guttering overhead and down the drain with a gurgle as Jason opened the door and she followed him inside.

Jason threw his keys to one side, and they landed with a clank on the kitchen table, the cat trotting in after them and winding itself around his legs. “Hey Sweep,” he muttered absently and started to shuck off his coat. Helen stood watching for a moment, sucking her upper lip into her mouth and sniffing as she rubbed her palms across the damp skin of her face. The cat meowed pathetically, looking up expectantly at Jason as he rubbed a towel over his head and face. Helen gingerly placed her gun and her phone on the sideboard and began to loosen the belt of her coat. Jason twisted his neck to one side with a grimace and she noticed a spot of blood on the towel where it had rubbed against the cut on his head.

“Alright, alright,” Jason told the cat as it weaved about and followed him across the room. Helen draped her coat over the back of a chair and watched as he pulled a box out of the cupboard, emptying the contents into a plastic bowl in the corner. The cat butted his hand with it's head and began to purr loudly as it ate. He straightened up he ran his gaze over her, gripping the box in both hands and swallowing before he spoke. “I ah...I'll find you a towel or something,” he told her and she nodded at him, rubbing her arms against the chill.

Shoulders hunched, she walked stiffly into the next room and sat down on a chair in a corner, bending her leg up over her knee to remove her boot. She tugged it off and set it down on the floor, peeling her damp sock off with a sigh of relief. She rubbed her toes for a minute, flexing them to get the feeling back and inhaling deeply through her nose. With both her feet pressed against the wood floor, she gathered her tangled, sopping hair and pulled it up over her shoulder. The water ran in rivulets down her arms and dripped off her elbows as she squeezed. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs she let her hands drop down against her knees, her wet hair coiling like a rope around her neck and a moment later Jason entered.

“Here,” he said softly, handing her a large fluffy towel. She took it with a slight smile and flicked her gaze lazily over the t-shirt in his hands. “I um, I didn't know what you wanted to do. I mean, if you were going back to your hotel or...” he swallowed and stared at the back of the t-shirt. “But I got you some dry things, ah, if you want them.”

Helen blinked slowly and nodded. “Thank you,” she told him quietly and reached out to take the shirt from him. He smiled back and met her eyes for a brief moment before she dropped her gaze bashfully. “You should let me take a look at that cut on your head,” she said, stretching her arm up. Jason jerked his head to the side out of reach but Helen followed his movement with her hand, touching her fingertips against his skin. “Come on, there must have been all sorts living in that place,” she explained at his grimace. “We better clean it at least.”

“Okay,” he replied nodding. “Just...let me change out of these wet things.”

A little while later Helen stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hair wrapped in the towel as she rifled through the cabinet. The hum of the dryer drifted up the stairs, the sound of rain coming through the open window beside her. She found a pair of tweezers, slightly warped from being wedged at the back of the cabinet and she turned them around in her fingers to inspect them before setting them on the side of the basin. The towel began to unravel, slipping down her back so she pulled it off and hung it over the side of the bath. Continuing her search she found some cotton wool, a half empty back of band aids and a crusty tube of antiseptic ointment. She sucked her lower lip as she considered the sorry items she had cobbled together and sighed. She had worked with worse.

Jason climbed the stairs slowly and turned his head to peer through the banisters at the open door of the bathroom. Helen's bare feet shifted on the tile and he ran his gaze up her long legs, watching as she hitched the ill-fitting shorts he had given her over her hip. His t-shirt hung loosely over her frame, obscuring her figure but when she turned to look at him he couldn't help his eyes from running over the exposed planes of her collarbone as it hung over her shoulder.

“I ah....this was the best I could find,” he said, proffering a bottle of whiskey. Helen turned and took it from him, leaning back against the sink to inspect it.

“Forty five percent,” she said with a nod. “That'll do fine. Sit down.” She gestured at the toilet and turned to shake the toothbrushes out of the glass on the corner of the basin, rinsing it under the tap for a second before pouring in a couple of inches of whiskey. Jason dropped the lid on the toilet seat and lowered himself onto it as she swirled the tweezers around in the alcohol, the tips knocking into the glass with a high pitched ring. He watched as she held a wad of cotton wool to the bottle and upended it, stepping closer and peering down her nose at the wound on the side of his head. “This will probably sting like buggery,” she warned as she pressed the sodden wool against his skin and he hissed loudly. Jason gritted his teeth and grimaced, tipping the bottle to his lips and taking a long swig. Helen turned back to the sink and picked up the glass, taking out the tweezers and setting it down on the cistern, her chest brushing against his face as she leant across. Jason's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard.

Helen straightened up and shimmied closer. His leg slipped between her thighs, her stomach pressing lightly against his bare arm. Gently tipping his head to the side she began to slowly pull miniscule shards of glass from the wound. Jason screwed his eyes tight shut as she pressed the tweezers deeper into the soft flesh inside. He took another swig from the bottle and tried not to stare at the swell of her breasts under the white fabric of the t-shirt.

“I'm sorry I let him get away,” he uttered after a few minutes, his eyes flicking up to her face. Her mouth opened slightly and the pink tip of her tongue poked out to swipe lightly across her lower lip, her breath in his ear.

“It's alright,” she told him softly as she tore open a band-aid and began to pull the skin together, sticking it across the wound like a make shift butterfly stitch. “Happens to the best of us.” She quirked a brow at him playfully and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Helen's gaze dropped to the green bruise that peeked over the collar of his vest and her expression morphed from teasing to concerned. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed, slipping her finger underneath and tugging the material away from his skin.

“Ah...it's okay,” he replied reaching up and circling her wrists with his fingers gently.

“What happened?”

“He kicked me,” Jason explained, quirking his lips and tilting his head to the side. “It's not so bad.”

“Let me see!” she said in a sharp tone and he babbled incoherently in protest as she unceremoniously tugged the vest over his head. Jason held his arms aloft as she stooped closer and prodded him in the chest.

“Ow! Careful!” he chided and her eyes flicked up to his face.

“Sorry,” she replied stroking over the bruise gently for a minute before she straightened up. “Do you have any pain in your chest?” He shook his head .

“Really, it's okay. It hurt like hell at the time but now it just aches a little,” he assured her. Helen regarded him sceptically.

“Alright,” she said quietly after a minute and sat down on the edge of the tub.

“You really shouldn't have any more of that,” she said reaching up to pull the whisky bottle from his hands and tilting it towards his bruised sternum. “It'll make it worse.”

He huffed softly and looked at her through sleepy eyes. Helen held his gaze for a minute before turning her head away and chewing on her lip, twirling the bottle in her fingers.

“Quite a day,” he said quietly. Helen nodded, shifting her legs and clasping the side of the bath.

“Hmmm,” she replied. “I'm sorry we didn't find your brother,” she said, looking at him sadly.

“Yet,” he finished for her and she smiled, chuffing at him with a flare of her nostrils. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back and his gaze fell on the yellow bruise on her cheek. “You okay? You took a few knocks yourself.”

Helen raised her chin and stuck her jaw out a little, nodding before she replied. “Nothing a good cup of tea and snooze won't cure.” Jason chuckled.

“Snooze I can do,” he said leaning forward and taking the whisky bottle from her. “As for the other thing, well....I don't have any English tea,” he told her pushing up from his seat. “But maybe I can fix you a little dirty green tea?” He waggled the bottle at her and she smiled.

“Do you have a computer?” she called after him as he made his way down the stairs.

“Yeah, in the bedroom,” he replied through the banisters, gesturing down the hall. “Go ahead.”

Helen sat at his desk and peered through window as the computer beeped and whirred to life, pushing the curtains aside with her fingers and cricking her neck. She rested her elbow on the table, leaning her chin in her hand and began to read. A few minutes later Jason returned set a steaming mug beside her, tipping another to his lips and taking a loud slurp.

“Thanks,” she said wrapping her hands around the porcelain and raising it to her face, inhaling the hot vapor for a moment before sipping it. “Ah, that's nice,” she sighed, looking up at him through lazy, slitted eyes. He smiled and nodded his head towards the screen.

“What you doing?” he asked, turning and moving across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Helen swivelled in the chair to face him, crooking her knee up and bringing her foot to rest on the seat as she spoke.

“Just a bit of reading,” she explained. “Monitor lizards.”

“What? Those things back there?” Jason asked, his eyes roaming across the smooth skin of her thigh as he took a long swig of his whiskey and hot water. Helen licked her lips and nodded.

“Yes I...”she began, turning back to the screen. “I don't think there's anything especially abnormal about them. I can't be sure...”

Jason emptied his cup and slid back across the bed to rest it on a small chest of drawers against the wall. “Uh huh,” he uttered, crossing his arms behind his head.

“...but I think I recognise some of our friends at the shipping yard in these pictures and if that's the case, well....I don't know for certain but then it means our friend Worrall, while himself an abnormal, was actually just dealing in illegally imported reptiles as a side to his more conventional trade in narcotics. I'm thinking methamphetamine judging by the equipment we found,” she prattled, scrolling through the blurb on the screen. “Well that or he was just.....” she paused and wrinkled her nose up in distaste as she finished. “..eating them.”

Jason was quiet and when she turned around he was laid out on the bed fast asleep. Helen sighed and smiled softly, pushing up off the chair she reached for a blanket folded at the foot of the bed and began to spread it out over him. It did look very comfortable, she mused, pulling the rug up over his bare chest and and eyeing his toned arms. She let her gaze run across the lopsided band-aid on the side of his head - he seemed much less fearsome in repose. Her eyes were a little dry from reading off the computer, she thought, trying to suppress a yawn and failing, chewing her lip thoughtfully for a moment before lifting the rug and sliding in beside him.

And now, for the conclusion......

querulouspeg — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 17:44:47 GMT

Title: The Wasp & The Wood White
Pairing: Helen/OFC, Helen/John
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. You know it. I know it. 'Nuff said.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Victorian Era. Slash. Angst. Graphic Sex and violence eventually. Tag to my story The Moth's Wing.

Elsie greeted Mr Watson rather coolly but was nonetheless a sublimely courteous and impeccable servant during his visit at Christmas, her happiness at Helen's return overwhelming her suspicion of him. He was to his credit, a consummate gentleman and it became apparent to everyone as the years passed that despite his intense affection for Miss Helen, he otherwise intended to remain a bachelor.

Elsie was however far less obliging to the odious Mr Druitt, an imposing figure of a man for all his gentility. Elsie supposed he was pleasant enough, possessing grace and wit so as to appear perfectly charming, if Elsie were the type to be charmed by a man. There was something about him nonetheless that she did not like, not least of all the wickedness of his eyes whenever he looked at Helen. On the evening that Helen had announced their engagement Elsie had knocked a steaming jug of port sauce into his lap as she served him at dinner and although she had apologised she nonetheless found herself now the unhappy object of Helen's ire.

“You have excelled yourself this time, Elsie” Helen ranted. Elsie stood with arms crossed glaring at her hotly.

“Begging your pardon, MISS,” she sneered. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Your behaviour is beyond improper!” Helen snarled, pacing up and down the kitchen.

“Improper! Oh Miss, you are a gem, you are an absolute diamond!” Elsie chuckled bitterly. “You come in here and lecture me about propriety, the things that go on in this house!”

Helen froze, her hands clenching into fists at her sides and her chest heaving as she took a few deep breaths. “What I do in my own home is my business and I'll thank you to remember that,” she said darkly, stepping so close Elsie could feel her breath on her face and she shuddered, pressing back against the counter as Helen glared at her hatefully.

“What has become of you?” she gasped, trembling and Helen flinched as though she'd been struck. Her face softened and she dropped her gaze, seeming to come back to herself somewhat as she stepped back a way.

“I'm sorry,” she uttered, her eyes darting about the floor. “I....I....”

Elsie's face screwed up and she sniffed a breath through her nose, tears pricking at her eyes. “No, no I'm the sorry one, really I am. I don't know what comes over me!” she explained, stepping forward and tentatively placing her hand on Helen's shoulder. Helen slouched and gripped the back of a chair, her eyes falling closed as she let out a tired sigh. “I'm just concerned for you. You know I can't help it.”

“There's no need, Elsie, really,” Helen assured her in an exasperated voice, reaching up to squeeze her fingers gently before she walked away.

But how could she not be concerned? For all the locked doors and secrets in the place, you didn't need to study at Oxford to know that something was amiss in the Magnus house. Elsie changed the bedsheets after all, scrubbed the bloodstained clothing, sat patiently in the kitchen lovingly mending the tears in Helen's clothes. She was all too familiar with the hitch of breath and the shuddering gasp that drifted along the corridor only to wake in the morning to find the salon in disarray, a pungent stale odour hanging in the air and the ashtray overflowing. More and more the evenings were filled with quarrels and the sound of breaking glass, with Helen's sobs. Whenever Elsie tried to comfort her Helen pushed her away and retreated into the solitude of her room, locking the door behind her. Sometimes as she lay in her bed at night she could swear she heard screams from the hidden rooms under the house and would bury her head under the pillow and imagine she was far away on the beach at Holbiton.

Even Michael began to look pale and harried. He began to talk of going away, of getting out of the city or sometimes even further. “What is the world coming to Elsie, I ask you?” he said one morning, the newspaper spread across the table, full of stories of the most grisly goings on in the east end. Elsie sat in his chair after he went out, the wood still warm beneath her and read every repellent detail before screwing the paper up and throwing it onto the fire.

That evening she found a dishevelled looking Mr Druitt slouched in a chair in the salon, his huge feet propped on the mahogany table and clutching a decanter in his hand.

“El-sie, my dear,” he drawled in a low rumbling voice. She froze halfway between the door and the window and gripped the side of her skirt in her hands as she met his cold stare.

“How did you get in here?” she asked around the lump in her throat. Druitt tilted his chin at her.

“Well isn't that quite the warm welcome. Aren't we are going to be like family soon Elsie?” He chuckled and the sound made her heart thump in her chest. She glanced towards the door nervously, dropping her eyes to the carpet as he slowly got to his feet and moved closer. “Come now, what's all this?” He dropped his arms to his sides in a gesture of humility and dipped his head, his face contorted in a mocking pout.

“I shall just be closing the curtains if you don't mind sir, then I'll be getting on my way,” Elsie stammered, screwing up her courage and walking briskly to the window to tug on the heavy drapes, relief washing over her as she saw Michael driving the horses through the gate. She turned her head to find Druitt smiling at her but the grim set of his jaw and his dead eyes belied the benevolence of the gesture.

Some weeks later she stood outside the old man's study listening intently to Dr Watson's low voice as he spoke.

“.....good luck. Yours Truly Jack the Ripper. Don't mind me giving the trade name. PS Wasn't good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it no luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now ha ha.” There was a long pause followed by a sharp tapping and a hard sniff. “What does he want me to see Helen?”

A shadow fell across the hall and Elsie met Helen's hard eyes for a moment before the door shut abruptly in her face. Mournfully she retreated back to the safety of the kitchen, standing for a long time at the top of the stone steps that led to the cellar, peering down the winding stairs with a terrible sense of dread until she could bear it no longer. She ran all the way to her room and sat shivering under the old quilt as the doctor's words echoed around and around in her head.

Michael stood outside the kitchen window one evening, smoking and talking to some fellow he knew. Elsie quietly folded undergarments into a basket and turned to glance through the glass and Michael raised his eyebrows at her, his collar pulled up around his ears against the cold. She was just hoisting the basket onto her hip as he entered.

“I might go out for a jar, if you don't mind,” he said breathing into his palms and rubbing them together briskly. She huffed out a breath, shaking her head at him playfully and he grinned at her mischievously.

She climbed the main stairs and walked along the landing to Helen's room, setting the basket on the bed before turning to light the gas lamp on the wall. Stepping up to the dresser she pulled open a drawer and began to carefully put the clothes away, reverently laying each item inside until the basket was empty. When she was done she picked it up with one hand and stepped towards the door, bumping into something tall and dark.

“You!” she gasped and staggered backwards in surprise.

“Hello Elsie dear,” Druitt drawled, that same sinister smile on his face. “So nice to see you again.”

“Miss Helen isn't here if it's her you be wanting. I'm sure she'll be back soon,” she told him sharply, clutching the basket and brushing past him and out of the door. She had only taken a few steps along the landing when she raised her head to see Mr Druitt standing in front of her. “What the devil?” she muttered, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

“I'm flattered, really Elsie. I've been called far worse by much better people,” he chuckled as he stepped towards her. Elsie retreated along the hall, clutching the basket in front of her. “Whatever is the matter with you Elsie, I only wanted to say hello.”

“This isn't quite proper I'm sure you'll agree, Mr Druitt, sir,” Elsie explained, swallowing hard as he moved closer.

“Oh come now my dear girl, let's not stand on ceremony.”

“No, really sir I must insist. You shouldn't be upstairs, it's not decent,” she said and Druitt let out a loud belly laugh and wiped his eye with a finger.

“I really find it quite amusing to hear you talk this way, my dear girl.” Elsie felt the hard panelling of the wall at her back and glanced to the side down the corridor. “You? Decent? I think not.” Elsie turned and took a step forward intent on walking briskly away down the hall towards the back stairs when Druitt wrapped his hand around her throat. The basket fell from her hands and tumbled to the floor with a dull thud as he shoved her hard against the wall.

“Let me go!” Elsie cried, grimacing with fear, her eyes darting down the landing towards the stairs.

“Hush hush hush,” he told her softly, pressing a finger to her lips and exhaling a ragged breath of pleasure at the feel of throat quivering beneath his palm. “You know, she told me about you,” he said in a low voice, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “About the wicked, wicked things you'd do.”

Elsie screamed at the top of her lungs and Druitt's smile morphed into a look of pure hate. He slammed his palm across her mouth, knocking her head hard against the wall behind her and she squealed, her breath damp against his hand. She thrashed violently in his arms and Druitt began to pant rapidly, a mild chuckle turning into a loud laugh as he held her fast. “Oh yes, I like it when you struggle!” he told her menacingly, rubbing his nose against hers and inhaling deeply. Elsie's eyes rolled back in her head and she fell still and Druitt felt a surge of panic for a moment that she might already be dead. He pulled his hand away from her mouth and instinctively she gasped, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes flying open and darting about frantically.

“You monster, let me go!” she sobbed and Druitt pulled her close against him, his fingers digging into her hair as he yanked her head back.

“However could I do that Elsie? I can't let you go! What kind of man would I be to let a filthy little slattern like you continue to live under my roof?” Elsie cried out as her hair twisted painfully away from her scalp. “No!” Druitt snarled, shaking her hard. “No, I have to purge this depravity out of my house!” Elsie staggered as he released her hair, gripping onto his coat as she slumped down and Druitt grasped her wrists tightly in his hands. She heaved in a great breath as he pulled her upright and began to laugh, raising her chin to stare into Druitt's confused face, his lips curling back over his teeth in disgust.

“Oh, Mr Druitt, sir!” she chuckled, a warped deranged sound in his ears. “And what about you? Are you going to purge yourself are you?” He clenched his jaw and shook her hard.

“Shut your filthy mouth! Shut up!” he barked but she flopped about in his arms and laughed some more.

“I seen yer you know, I know about yer!” she taunted. “You an' 'im in the drawin' room.” She took pause to draw breath. “On Christmas Day, I seen yer. Kissin' him.” Druitt glared into her eyes and she felt a surge of victory at the look of hurt on his face. “You filthy! Disgusting! Pair!” she breathed.

Druitt let out a long, low rumble, bellowing at her as he brought his palm down across her face before hurling her roughly away. Elsie cried out and spun across the landing, clutching at the banister madly as she went. She grasped the railing and hauled herself up, staggering backward a few steps before turning to dash haphazardly down the hall. As she reached the top of the stairs there was a strange crackling sound, like a lunge whip and Druitt appeared suddenly beside her. Elsie let out a gasp of terror and confusion and he reached out, wrapping his hands about her neck. She wheezed and choked as he squeezed, her legs giving way beneath her as she clawed at his wrists. Druitt glared at her, a look of pure hate on his face and she felt her heart constrict, the finality of the moment becoming utterly clear. Her eyes went wide and she glanced towards the staircase briefly before her gaze came to rest on his face once again. Druitt breathed hard through his teeth and kept his persistent grip like a vice around her throat as she went limp, flopping heavily in his arms until he released her, her body toppling sickeningly down the stairs.

Helen clutched the mantelpiece with both hands and stared blankly into her own reflection, trembling so hard she dare not let go. Michael sat on a chair behind her, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands as he tried not to sob. Each gasping breath he took was like a knife in Helen's heart. From the hallway she could hear the low murmur of voices and a moment later James met her eye in the mirror.

“Helen,” he murmured and she turned to face him. Michael raised his head and looked at James, his eyes puffy and red from his tears. James' gaze flicked about the carpet and he took a slow breath before he continued. “Mr Lestrade is convinced it was an accident, that she fell,” he said very quietly. Helen licked her lips, her mouth like cotton.

“And you?” she asked, her mouth turned downward sourly. James chewed on his lips for a long moment and did not reply but the look on his face told her enough.

Some days after the funeral, Helen sat in her father's study, staring over the desk and through the window at the branches swaying in the wind outside. She would never be able to remember how long she stayed that way but the fire had gone out when she heard Michael's quiet cough. She turned her face towards the door to see him dressed in his greatcoat and twisting his hat in his hands.

“Begging your pardon, miss, might I have a word?” he asked politely.

“Of course, Mick, come in,” she uttered in a breathless voice, rising from behind the desk.

“No, no don't get up,” he said gently, raising his palm. He would not meet her eyes as he approached the table..

“What is it?” Helen asked softly, regarding him with a sad expression.

“If you please, Miss Helen, I'll be taking my leave of you now,” Michael told her meekly. Helen stared at him agog.

“Taking your leave? Why Michael?” she stammered, rising from her chair.

“I can't stay here no more, Helen. Not now.”

“How....I don't know what to say,” Helen replied, tears pricking at her eyes and she stepped out from behind the table.

“If you will, don't say anything. There's nothing needs to be said anymore.” Michael rubbed his hands together, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as he clenched his jaw against the welling up of sorrow within him.

“Where will you go? What will you do?” Helen exclaimed, moving close to stand beside him. Michael turned to her and licked his lips before continuing.

“To Holbiton miss, just to say goodbye.”

“And then?” Helen shook her head in disbelief.

“To Bristol,” Michael said, his voice firm and certain.

“The colonies, Michael?” Helen drew her chin back in shock and turned to stare into the distance with wide eyes.

“Aye, to Canada.”

“Canada! Whatever will you do in Canada!?” Helen cried. “It's the bloody wilderness! God knows what kind of monsters there are!”

“If you don't mind me saying Helen, but they can't be worse than as you finds closer to home.” Helen turned her head to look at him and he held her gaze for a long moment.

“Have you enough money?” she said after a while and Michael nodded.

“I've some saved,” he answered.

“You must let me help, Michael. You must let me take care of you,” Helen told him firmly and he shook his head, short abrupt movements. “Please,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks as she grasped his hand. His breath hitched and he wrapped his arms around her and sniffed loudly into her hair.

“I shall miss you Helen, my love,” Michael told her but Helen could not speak, just held onto him as though her life would end if she let go.

“What will I do without you?” she sobbed. Michael pulled back and lifted her chin with his finger.

“I think Helen.....that you shall do just fine.”

Michael promised her that he would write to her when he had got to wherever it was he was meant to be going and Helen was in the kitchen, months later, eating her breakfast at the rough wooden table there when James brought in the post.

“One for you,” he said, dropping the rumpled envelope in front of her.

“It's from Michael,” she told him, a smile breaking out over her face as she turned it over in her hands.

“Oh yes,” James replied curiously, lifting his coat tails as he sat down opposite and opening out the broad sheets of the paper before him. “Wherever did he end up then?” He peered over the top of the page to see Helen grinning idiotically at the letter in her hand.

“Some place called Gastown,” she told him, meeting his raised brow with one of her own.

“Sounds perfectly hideous,” James said, shaking the paper firmly before leaning back in his chair to read.

A/N The excerpts James reads are from the real 'Dear Boss' letter received by Scotland Yard. Also, I know the dates don't exactly tie in, what with the renaming of Gastown but I figured since this story contains a man who can teleport, we could suspend our disbelief.

Because I love it too much to keep it to myself

querulouspeg — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 05:51:32 GMT

Title: The Wasp & The Wood White
Pairing: Helen/OFC, Helen/John
Rating: ADULT
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. You know it. I know it. 'Nuff said.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Victorian Era. Slash. Angst. Graphic Sex and violence eventually. Tag to my story The Moth's Wing.

Helen jerked awake at the blast of the whistle, the sound of doors slamming vibrating loudly through the train. She blinked and raised her head sleepily to look out of the window, swaying in her seat as the train began to chug forward on the rails again. Elsie shifted and twisted her head against her neck, her breath warm and damp against Helen's neck.

“Taunton, love, we'll be next” Mrs Venner told her softly and Helen turned to her with a small smile.

They were travelling west again, as they had done so often before and Helen admitted she was looking forward to the country. She had not visited the house in Holbiton since before her tour of the continent and things were very different then. In truth, she had come to escape the city and the incessant quarrelling with her father. He seemed to be becoming more obsessive about his work, disappearing for days even weeks at a time with no word, holding secretive meetings with strangers in the small hours. The whole house was aware of the strange rooms downstairs but even Mr Venner was forbidden from entering and whenever Helen questioned her father about it, he dismissed her and changed the subject. She grew weary of his apparent disinterest and lack of support for her studies and when Mrs Venner had expressed a desire to visit her relatives, “a folly of old age” she had called it, the opportunity for an escape was too powerful to resist.

Old Mr Venner snorted loudly and sat upright suddenly, staring ahead wide eyed like somnambulist until he came back to himself and settled against the seat. “Are we there yet Mrs Venner?” he asked gruffly and Helen smiled at their persistent formality, even after all these years.

The coach journey to the house was as long and uncomfortable as ever and Helen and Michael spent a good part of it discussing the planned extension of the railway southward towards Plymouth while Elsie rolled her eyes at them and stared out of the window at the dawn. The carriage pulled up in front of her grandfather's house, although the old man was long since dead and they were met instead by Helen's ageing aunt. There were some times that Elsie did not envy Helen's upbringing and this was one of them. She happily trailed up the stairs behind the old folk and collapsed on her creaky bed in the attic while Helen endured stilted conversation and horrid, dishwater tea in the parlour. She was roused some time later by Helen's tired smile looming above her. “Let me help you get changed,” Else murmured sleepily, pushing up on her arms but Helen stilled her with a hand to the shoulder.

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Helen whispered, planting a soft kiss on her lips before slipping away.

“I got another one!” Michael's voice drifted across the beach and Helen raised her head to see him waving a razor clam at her, his feet in two inches of water and his trousers rolled up about his calves. She watched him stuff it into his net bag and crouch down to drop salt into another burrow in the wet sand.

“Is that why we say happy as a sandboy?” Elsie asked, pushing up on her elbows to watch him.

“I'm sick of clams,” Helen admitted lying back against the rock and staring at the the sky. Elsie smiled.

“However could you get sick of clams? They're wonderful,” she replied, rolling over to poke at an anemone with a twig, it's long tendrils curling up to form a hard red knot against the side of the shallow pool in the rock. “Oh look, there's a little fish in here!”

Helen peered down as Elsie gingerly lifted a piece of seaweed with her twig to reveal a tiny, silver creature cowering underneath.

“Come on girls, we've got a right good feast 'ere” Michael told them, climbing barefoot up the rock towards them.

“Oh joy of joys, clams again,” Helen drawled and Michael shrugged, his face in shadow from the bright sun behind.

“Could tek 'em up old man Roe's and see if 'e'll swap 'em for some scrumpy if yer like?”

“Honestly, Mick are you trying to sound like a farmer?” Elsie teased and he flicked his soggy bag of clams at her.

“Hush up you!” he retorted and Helen laughed, sliding down the rock and picking her boots up out of the sand.

Michael powered up the hill ahead of them but Elsie really didn't mind. She kept stopping to pick greengages out of the hedge, slipping her hand into Helen's as Michael disappeared over the brow. Helen squeezed her fingers and flicked a bright pink bud of Valerian that stuck out of the old stone wall up the lane.

“Oh my that is a sight,” Elsie sighed as they turned the corner. The crumbling old wall was covered in bundles of pink and purple and white, bright stalks of Valerian sprouting out of every possible crevice. Dozens of butterflies flitted about the flowers and the two women stood for a long moment watching in silence. “Oh ain't they dainty?” Elsie cooed stepping nearer. “Not so pretty up close though are they? They've got that horrible tongue, eurgh!”

Helen laughed. “Even pretty things have their ugly side,” she replied. “I think they're fascinating. Did you know that sometimes wasps will bury their larvae inside a butterfly's chrysalis while it's changing and the creature that comes out it like some grisly monster from a horror story, part butterfly part wasp?”

“Oh that's horrible, why did you have to tell me that?” Elsie chided and Helen chuckled.

“Sorry, I can't help it. It's just how I see things.”

“Well I don't need to know, I can just appreciate it how God intended it.”

“You think God intended for wasps to bury their larvae into caterpillars and eat them from the inside out?” Helen mocked. “Not any sort of God I want anything to do with.”

“Helen! How could you say such a thing?” Elsie turned to her with a look of shock.

“What? That I don't believe in God?” She shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don't, I'm not certain of anything as lofty as that.”

“Oh you make my head ache when you get like this,” Elsie teased and Helen's smiled broadened as she wrapped her arms about Elsie's waist and kissed the devil out of her under the Valerian buds.

When they reached the house sometime later, Mrs Venner was standing at the gate, leaning heavily on the iron railing and breathing hard. There was a bicycle propped against the wall and a little way behind her stood a young man in a Post Office uniform, anxiously smoothing his hair down.

“There's a telegram come for you, Miss Helen,” Mrs Venner told her sharply and she turned to glare at Elsie sourly before turning away down the garden path. “Come on with you now girl,” she snapped and Helen and Elsie exchanged a look before she followed her mother into the house, passing Michael as he wandered down to join Helen in curiosity at their visitor.

“Whatever is the matter, mother?” Elsie asked as they walked through the back door into the kitchen.

“The matter?” Mrs Venner said, her face screwing up. Elsie stepped forward to clutch at her arm and Mrs Venner brushed it away abruptly.

“Oh for my shame, Lord whatever did I do wrong? All my sins come back to haunt me now that I should have to endure this!” she exclaimed, sinking backward onto a chair and twisting her dress in her hand.

“Mother?”

“We seen yer child, you wicked thing, in the lane! Oh my lord, with the man from the Post Office and we seen yer kissing!”

Elsie's eyes grew wide and her mouth went dry. Her heart thumped sickeningly in her chest and she turned to stare through the open door at where Helen stood by the gate.

“We didn't mean no harm by it mother, it were just a kiss!” Elsie babbled anxiously and her mother shook her head furiously from side to side.

“Disgusting it is! And all this time and I should have known it! Cuddling up like you do, you base, vile pair!”

“No mother,” Elsie sobbed stepping closer and taking her mother by the arms. “It's not like that!”

“Oh get away from me you, wicked creature. I'll not have it!”

Michael came clattering through the door, wide eyes and brimming with excitement.

“It's from the college! They want to meet with her!” he beamed, pressing his palms against the door frame and grinning like an idiot. “Have we a pen? She wants to send a reply back straight away!” Mrs Venner wouldn't meet his eyes and Elsie sat frozen, clutching her mother's arms and staring at her face in despair. “Oh, I'll get it myself!” he uttered and barged past them brusquely to dig around in the dresser against the wall.

“Did you hear? Did Micky tell you?” Helen said breathlessly from the door and Elsie sucked on her lip and turned see her glowing face.

“That's wonderful news, miss,” she said, her eyes watering.

“Whatever's wrong?” Helen asked in a concerned tone, putting her arm on Elsie's shoulder. Elsie sniffed and shook her head.

“I'm just happy for you,” she lied and Helen heaved an excited breath and grinned before Michael hustled her back outside.

Helen was eager to return to London after the telegram but even in her excitement could not miss the black mood that had overcome the household. Mrs Venner had not accompanied them to the station.

“She's well enough, just old,” Michael had told her as they said they're farewells on the busy concourse beside the carriage. “Never you mind about that now, anyway. You've got bigger fish to fry!” Helen squeezed his arm fondly and smiled as he dramatically waved his hat from the platform as the trained pulled away. Elsie remained worryingly mute for the journey, staying stiff in Helen's arms as she tried to embrace her.

“I'm sorry, I just....I don't feel well,” Elsie had explained mournfully and Helen swallowed back the twisting anxiety in her gut.

The return to London was less joyous than Helen had hoped and the feeling the house grew cold and tense as she quarrelled again with her father, irked by his disinterest in her upcoming meeting at the College. There were more strange visitors and the old doctor continued to hide away in the dark rooms under the house. Elsie strained to hear the raised voices from his study as she furrowed in a cabinet down the hall. That was the night that Gregory took Helen downstairs for the first time.

“Are you sure you're quite well?” she asked as she slipped Helen's dressing gown around her arms and Helen stared absently into the distance. “Helen?” she asked again with a gentle squeeze to her shoulders.

“Hmm, I'm sorry, I'm.....very tired,” Helen told her and Elsie sucked on her lower lip and nodded, staring at the dark circles under Helen's eyes.

“Shall I stay?” Elsie said in a meek tone as Helen rose from her seat at the dressing table.

“If you like,” Helen replied but her tone was indifferent and Elsie could not have felt chillier under the sheets with her than if she had been alone in her own bed.

“I'm not coming,” Helen had stated flatly a few days later, rifling through a box of letters on her father's desk as Elsie stood in the doorway in her Sunday best.

“You never come no more, people are talking,” Elsie told her anxiously.

“People always talk and I don't care for their chatter,” Helen said snappishly. “I've other more pressing things to do today than sit for an hour in a freezing pew hearing about all the ways I'm damned!”

Elsie's face screwed up. “Oh don't, I hate it when you get like this!” she sobbed. Helen let out a slow sigh and let her shoulders slouch.

“I'm sorry,” she replied softly, putting the lid on the box and walking slowly to the door with a letter clutched in her hand. Helen smiled at her softly and squeezed her gently by the shoulders. “You go, say a little prayer for me,” she said with a gleam in her eye and pecked Elsie lightly on the cheek before walking out of the room. Elsie sat frozen in the back of the church that day, staring beyond the rampaging minister at the mournful expression on the wooden face nailed to the cross on the wall behind.

The next morning the postman arrived with a letter in her brother's terrible scrawl. Elsie smiled and turned it over in her fingers as she walked down the hall to the kitchen, gleefully tearing open the envelope as she waited for the water to boil. She sank down in a chair beside the range as she read it and was still there hours later when Helen finally found her, staring at the wall with a blank look.

“Whatever are you doing? Why are there no lights on?” Helen asked in an irritated tone as she stepped into the chilly room. “The fire's gone out, Elsie! Elsie? What's wrong?” Elsie blinked and started in her seat, turning to meet Helen's concerned gaze and taking a loud, sobbing breath.

“Oh she's dead!” she cried. “She died! Oh mother!” Helen's mouth gaped and tears pricked at her eyes, falling to her knees as Elsie buried her face in her shoulder and wept and wept. Helen pressed her nose into her hair and ran her hands up and down Elsie's back as she held her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Michael returned to London without his father and embraced his sister tenderly at the servant's entrance at the side of the house. Helen stood sadly in the hallway behind and Michael met her sad stare softly. If he noticed the chilly atmosphere in the house he did not remark on it, stoically carrying out his duties, the epitome of silent strength. When Helen received the letter from Somerville College he smiled at her warmly and squeezed her arm.

“That's it miss, you're on your way now!” he told her and Helen's eyes crinkled at the corners as she clutched the letter tightly to her chest. Elsie, however, was less enthusiastic.

“Settle now,” Michael told her as she slammed a pan angrily into the back of the cupboard in the kitchen.

“Don't tell me to settle, I'm not a child!” she bellowed and Michael ran his hands over his head in despair. “After everything and now she's just up and going, to god knows where!”

“It's only Oxford, it's just a stone's throw on a train, she'll be to and fro' and you know it. The whole world wants to be in London and Miss Helen's no different!” Michael attempted to soothe her. “I don't know why you're in such a dither about it anyway, we always knew she'd be off one day.”

“Oh I knew, stupid bloody fool I am too!”

“Elsie!” he cried exasperated stepping closer but she barged away, hoisting the laundry basket on her hip and storming out into the yard, the door clatteringly loudly shut behind her.

Helen found her there later, aggressively pinning linens to the line.

“From the look of that sky I'd say we were having rain,” she said, brushing the sleeve of a gentleman's undershirt out of her eyes as it fluttered in the breeze.

“I'll thank you not to instruct me on my work as I don't you and yours,” Elsie told her bitterly, stabbing a peg onto the cord in front of her.

“Why are you being this way? I thought you'd be happy for me?” Helen asked in a pleading voice.

“Happy? What do you care for my happiness? I had to hear it second hand, you didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself you was going away!” Elsie said angrily, spinning on her heels to face her.

“You know I care!” Helen exclaimed.

“I don't know anything!” Elsie cried. “I'm just the help! You don't care for me, you don't care for anyone or anything except your precious work! You're cold as ice!” Helen gaped and took a step back, shocked.

“How can you say such a thing?” she said in a choked voice.

“Oh leave me be! Just leave me alone!” Elsie said, flinging her cloth bag of pegs into the laundry basket.

“Elsie!” Helen sobbed, reaching forward to clutch her arm.

“No, don't touch me! Go on to your precious College and leave me be, I don't want to speak to you ever again!” She stormed away and Helen stood amid the billowing clothes, shivering in the chilly wind.

Helen went away to Oxford a month later, her father accompanying her on the train. She smiled at him, a genuine smile of hope and excitement for the future but as they sat in their compartment, steaming through the countryside, she could not deny the anguish that clutched at her heart and stared blankly out of the window as she remembered Elsie's stiff goodbye. Back at the house the maid scrubbed away her heartbreak and endured Michael's gentle mocking as he remarked that the front step had never looked so clean.

“We don't want her to think we've let the place go to the dogs without her now, do we?” she had replied primly, dropping her brush into the bucket as Michael slouched against the portico wall smoking.

“No fear of that with you in charge Elsie Venner,” he told her with a smile and she shushed him out of her way as she emptied the soapy water onto the cobbles below.

Some weeks passed and a letter finally arrived in Helen's elegant script and Michael read it to her as she peeled tiny onions for pickling at the kitchen table.

“She says that she is finding the courses most engaging. She shall be home for Christmas on the seventeenth to Paddington and that she should be much obliged for my meeting her at the station. She asks you not to forget to place the order at Fortnum's for the hamper and that if we are having any trouble in catching the old man to settle the accounts to write her and she will expe...expedite it at once.” He told her, stopping to rub at the stubbly moustache he was attempting to grow.

“And is she well?” Elsie asked softly, rubbing a small knife against her apron and picking off a piece of onion skin with her nail. Michael tipped his head to one side and pursed his lips.

“She says she is well and that the air is good without the smog of London. She has made the acquaintance of a gentleman named Mr Watson who is also studying medicine and considers that she might invite him to dinner during the holiday. Eh you don't suppose she'll marry 'im do yer?” Michael asked with a broad grin. Elsie clenched her jaw and smiled stiffly, letting to knife drop to the table with a clatter.

“What's that she always said?” Elsie remarked bitterly. “When men talk of the future the gods laugh.”