A/N: I posted this on tumblr as a response to that lovely gifset that got people writing :D I'll put it up here too because apparently I have caught the porn lately and this fits in that collection :p
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Helena
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My research revealed this is the easiest way. I do not necessarily approve, but then again, the means do not matter. I am here to get what I want, what I need, and how I get it is not of importance.
Clubs are certainly not what they used to be. I make my way, rather awkwardly, through a throng of people that has nothing in common with the impeccably dressed ladies of the literacy club that I half reluctantly, half ecstatically took part in due to Charles's undeserved social influence. This place is dark and warm, air heavy with sweat, the smell of alcohol, and the unmistakeable charge of raw sexual energy that radiates from the crowd of undulating bodies.
To my delight the room is completely dominated by women, as promised. Women of every kind; short, tall, broad, thin, masculine, androgynous, feminine. I make my way to the barman, who turns out to be a woman too, and order a beer that is rather disgusting but that does not matter, either. It is an accessory, and I sip at it absently as I lean against the bar, searching the room. My gaze first falls upon a blonde beauty that sits, legs crossed, on a bar stool to my left. She seems troubled, staring at the dancing crowd as if assessing it too. Her eyes shift towards mine and I meet them briefly before turning away dismissively. No. She is not the one.
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Myka
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The hotel room is filled with noises; low, mumbling voices, elevator pings, the occasional shouting and the traffic outside. And then there is the rain and wind that lashes at the window relentlessly. I turn around, rearranging the pillow into a shape that should be more comfortable but does little to relieve the tension in my neck, my shoulders, my…everything.
We cracked a case today, me and Pete, bagging the artefact like pros. We even had time to enjoy a good meal downtown before retiring to our rooms to get some sleep before the early flight back to South Dakota. Therein lies the problem. I had a couple of beers, not enough to make me drunk, far from it, but enough to push back my boundaries and relinquish a tiny bit of self control. And now, in the darkness with the streetlights casting cold shadows on the walls, I think of her. I cannot, must not, think of her. Not in that way.
But right now it does not matter if my eyes are open or closed, if I shake my head to get rid of the terribly inappropriate thoughts, or if I turn on the lights and pick up my book – I cannot stop thinking of the smirking, the invading of personal space, the completely over-the-top-yet-strangely-attractive confidence of the woman that is H. G. Wells. The woman whom I threatened to strangle little over a week ago, almost enjoying it. I hear her voice in my head, the English accent that makes every word into something so substantial I can almost taste it. There is so much wrong with these thoughts that I do not know where to start making sense of them. It is so wrong, but the way my body responds to the mental images is unmistakeable. I want her.
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Helena
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The woman's back is warm under my hands as I steer her towards the exit, heartbeat quickening in anticipation. When we reach the wardrobe I hold out her coat, earning an amused smile. "Such a gentlewoman you are". I do not reply, merely raise my eyebrows. This century has seen a turn for the worse when it comes to common courtesy, that is for sure.
We walk the few blocks to my hotel, and I unceremoniously and quite forcefully push her up against the door as soon as it closes behind us. I dig my hands into brown locks, their softness contrasting sharply against her belt that digs painfully into my stomach as I press my body against hers. Our breaths are hot, her tongue all too teasing, and my hands move down to cup her cheeks, holding her in place as I take control. She may be taller, confident, and probably accustomed to dominating others, but I am not succumbing, not to her. I move my thigh in place between hers and grin at the whimper it causes, her hands on my hips pushing me into her without restraint. Profanities tumble from her lips between kisses, and they rush through me, adding an unexpected but not unwelcome dimension to the fantasy. I take her first, right there up against the door, biting at her neck, thrusting fast and hard. It is quick, without much consideration to detail. I focus solely on the goal, the taking of pleasure, as does she later, on the bed with her head between my legs. The giving is an afterthought, an effect rather than an act in its own right.
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Myka
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I would deny it until words failed me if someone called me out, but here I am, a hand between my legs, the other moving towards my breast without hesitation.
I am naked and so is her body against mine, and this time she is on top but she would not always be. Her hair falls over my shoulders and her possessive tongue is deep inside my mouth. My hands roam over her back as she trails her tongue along my jawline to an ear where she whispers my name. No, she whispers "Agent Bering", and I shiver as the sound flows through me, as physical as if it was a touch. She is wet against my thigh.
My heavy breaths mingle with the traffic, the elevator, the mumbling, to the point where I cannot separate one from the other. My head is blank but for the focus on the feeling of my fingers, her fingers, sliding easily in and out, and somewhere in the fuzz I am surprised at how close I am already.
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Helena
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It is easy now, with the mass of curls hiding most of her face and her eyes focused on the task, to see her, to feel her. I should perhaps be ashamed, but then again, my conquest may do the same for all I know. I close my eyes and feel Myka's grip around my throat, then her body against mine as I rushed her up into the sky, and when my eyes fall open again I am convinced she is really there and I shudder against her mouth, clenching at the sheets.
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Myka
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I am bucking against my own hand and for a moment I am all to aware of being in a hotel room in Tampa, well underway to getting off from the thought of having H. G.' s fingers inside of me. Somehow the shame in that does nothing to stop me. Quite the opposite.
I am past the point of really caring anyway.
I cry out, and she captures the sound with a kiss that sends me up, away, and nothing matters anymore except her fingers inside of me.
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Helena
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I do not turn when she gathers her things to leave, nor does she seem to hesitate or wish to say something. It is almost dawn, and as the door closes I pull the covers closer about me and open my eyes to the fading blackness. For a moment I feel a pang of fear at the possible implications; the risk of this turning into something more, something important. In another life it could have. Not now. Our flirtations are simply a means to an end, because I cannot afford any distractions.
And Myka Bering is too large a distraction already.
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Myka
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I wash my hands and look up slowly, meeting my reflection that is all too sharp in the hard fluorescent light of the bathroom. It is written all over my flushed cheeks and wide eyes what I have just done. For a minute or two, I feel no regret, the lingering pleasure strangely justifying my actions. But I stay there, staring into my own eyes until my head clears and I have to look away.
So wrong.
And yet being in the company of H. G. Wells is the most right I have felt in a very long time.