Disclaimer: Warehouse 13 and its occupants, human and non-human alike are not my property, simply borrowed for fun and returned safely. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author: Artie-factual
Rating: M, 18, Adult themes, so leave if it isn't your thing.
A/N: Artifact/artefact: George Bailey's copy of 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' given to him by his guardian angel, Clarence from 'It's a wonderful life'. The book is engraved with the words: "Dear George: Remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings! Love Clarence."
Enables someone to see an alternate version of their own lives. A 'what if' for the wistful at heart. Character is Artie and original other female of my devising.
First attempt at a Warehouse 13 fic so don't kill me. Or cover me in purple goo.
Another life.
The somewhat grizzled appearance of the sleeping man belied his true nature. While it was known only too well by his co-workers that his temper could be short and his mien irritable, it was also understood that beneath the hirsute chest beat the heart of a kind and loyal man. A man who had loved and lost, a man who thought of the bigger picture and worked for the greater good. They would have to look deeper to find the lonely man who had dedicated thirty years of his life to a tough and demanding mistress.
Warehouse 13.
Thirty years.
He was having a day off. He had earned it.
Artie Nielsen mumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he pulled the quilt up over his shoulder and sank back into his pillow. Eyes still closed, he had barely surfaced to consciousness before dropping back into REM sleep and the interesting dream that he had been enjoying before the cold limb had dragged his attention away. The rather fetching dark-haired siren who had lured him away to do unmentionable things to him in his room at Leena's was still waiting for him.
In reality his morning erection stirred hopefully, in that happy place between 'maybe I'll get lucky today' and 'dammit, I need the john'.
Artie snuffled, happily unaware of his penis' thought processes. He was now warm and comfortable and he had no intention of getting up this early. It was barely light.
Raven Hair smiled in welcome. She crawled, leonine, across the bed towards him. Lush and full without being overdone, the fascinating motion of her perfect breasts held him mesmerised. It all felt so real that when she flipped back the quilt that covered his naked body he actually shivered.
Christ! Good dream.
Her warm hand closed around him. As her head lowered, her lips parted in a perfect red 'o'. He couldn't move, couldn't look away – didn't want to look away – as his dick disappeared into her hot, wet mouth. He gasped aloud. It felt so real.
Impossibly, his dream lover – whose mouth was clearly too occupied for speech – called to him.
"Oh, honey..."
The warm voice was positively laden with sexual overtones. Artie was torn between indulging the siren pleasuring him and the disturbing thought that something was not quite right.
Years of instinct battled with desire. As it was obvious to him that he was asleep and dreaming, he pushed away the distracting suspicions and concentrated on the pleasure.
As can only happen in dreams he was now spooned behind his lover and buried to the hilt; the deliciously moist heat pulsed in welcome. Artie groaned with pleasure as the woman in his arms simultaneously backed against his groin and pushed forward to thrust a breast into his hand. He obligingly tweaked its nipple with just the right balance between pleasure and pain. His companion moaned – in a good way.
"...you know just how to wake me up..."
In all his sixty-odd years on the planet, he didn't think that he had ever heard a woman speak to him with that tone. Like he was the most amazing piece of ass in the sack. Buoyed up by the thought, he smirked with, if you'll pardon the pun, cocky pride. He slid his unoccupied hand down her firm and toned stomach to slip between her legs, searching delicately for the sweet spot.
"Oh God!"
Bingo.
One thing made good sex great in his opinion, and that was getting her to come first.
Judging by the increased activity, it wouldn't be long now. Artie plied his fingers with artistry; the bow to her violin. Thrust and counter-thrust, every move pushing closer to nirvana.
"Ohyeah,ohyeah,ohhh, yesss!"
The little brain was in charge, but Artie didn't need the audio subtitle to his success. The exquisite ripples that caressed him so intimately were all the clue he needed, and not a moment too soon, as her orgasm triggered his own explosive release.
After the last thrust and accompanying grunt of delight, Artie collapsed, drained. He felt marvellous. Utterly boneless and relaxed. Satiated.
Kherristonabicycle, that was great!
He was sure he had the biggest smirk on his face as he slipped even deeper into sleep.
Some time later, Artie surfaced into sleepy consciousness. He was drowsily aware that he had no reason to get up early if he didn't choose to, and he didn't choose to. He felt all-over relaxed and calm, if a little warm. His quilt was heavy, as if something was caught somewhere. He tugged to free it, assuming that one of the cats had sneaked in during the night. He would have a word with Leena later, and ask her not to let either of the cats roam just anywhere they liked.
An indignant grumble accompanied the quilt's movement.
Artie froze, only an instinctive response escaping.
"Huh?"
He would never be at his most eloquent first thing in the morning, but this morning was rapidly becoming something out of the ordinary. His earlier suspicions came hurtling back.
All his feelings of relaxation deserted him when a sleepy female voice came from under the quilt.
"Wassmatter?"
He sat up and clutched the bedding to his chest in a curiously virginal gesture. The shock was clear on his face at the presence of another person in his bed.
What the frak was going on?
"Who are you?"
A face peered up at him, green eyes blinking at the light; she even smiled as she stretched luxuriously. She leaned back on her elbows, unintentionally making her magnificent breasts centre stage.
"Oh, very funny Artie, but you're not fooling anyone with this 'amnesia' joke. It's still your turn to cook breakfast."
"Answer the damn question!"
It was her turn to look surprised.
"Wow, your poker face is getting better. Have you been practicing?"
Artie scowled down at her. She sighed.
"My name is Lucy, as you well know."
"Why are you here?"
"What? Here in bed?"
Artie, flustered, waved vaguely at the room.
"Yes, here in bed and with me."
Lucy looked baffled.
"Where else should your wife be?"
Artie's jaw fell open and no sound emerged for long moments.
"My...wife?"
TBC.