Here, have a little more porn than is strictly necessary (thought it's still got plenty of character development and stuff, I promise). I mean, who doesn't like a little gratuitous porn in their fic, right?
The doors slowly slid closed and then Helena was pressed into the wall by Myka's firm, warm body, strong hands at her hips and lips seeking out her own. Helena's hands travelled to Myka's shoulders, her neck, her remarkable mane of curls, and stayed there, framing the curve of her skull. Myka kissed like no woman Helena had ever kissed before: confident and assertive but responsive, leveraging her slight advantage in height to tip Helena's head ever-so-slightly back into the wall's rough upholstery, a hint of whiskey burning on her tongue. She slid her palms up Helena's sides inside her open jacket, over her shirt, and Helena trembled a little, sensitive and thrilled, as the heels of Myka's hands brushed the sides of her breasts.
The elevator lurched to a halt with a moderately-unsettling dropping sensation and Myka quickly stepped back before the door opened. She ran a tongue over her lower lip and chased it with her teeth. Helena led them out of the elevator and down the hallway; Myka stood beside her, hands tucked in her own back pockets, while Helena slipped her key card out of her pocketbook and swiped it through the reader with square, precise motions. It had taken her several attempts to get the hang of these key-card locking mechanisms. The first time she'd encountered one, she'd ended up just using the card to force the lock.
Helena turned the doorknob and paused, glancing over at Myka beneath a cocked eyebrow and above half a smile as she tucked the key and pocketbook back into her jacket. Myka's eyebrows raised and she pursed her lips, bemusedly. Helena smirked back and pushed the door open; Myka's fingertips brushed the small of her back as she followed Helena into the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, Myka was upon her again, spinning her and pressing her back against the door. Helena was thrilled to comply, opening her mouth to Myka's tongue and hooking her fingers in Myka's belt loops as the fingers of one of Myka's hands combed into her hair and cradled her nape and the other splayed flat against the door outside Helena's shoulder. Helena tilted her hips forward as she pulled on Myka's waistband until their pelvises were pressed firmly together; Myka smiled into their kiss and shifted, just a little, so their thighs could interlock and—
"Oh," Helena gasped, tilting her head back, because that was delightfully intimate, and if she were to be perfectly—ah, ah—perfectly honest, it pressed the slick evidence of her body's overwhelming desire up against her skin.
Myka's lips were on her neck, now, and her throat, but Helena didn't notice the quick work Myka's hands had made of the buttons on her shirt until she felt cool fingers against the curve of her ribs, thumbs tracing the arc of the wire of her bra and then peeking underneath to stroke soft skin.
Her fingers fisted in curly hair as she arched forward from the door into that blessed touch.
Myka grinned and chuckled into the pulse of Helena's neck. "Impatient?" she teased.
"Not hardly," Helena replied before untangling one hand, grabbing the center of her own bra and pulling it up her chest, the band bunching in her underarms.
"Well, alright then," Myka breathed, bending to wrap her lips and tongue around a newly-exposed nipple, her hands still pushing Helena's ribcage back and up against the door.
Helena's eyes fluttered closed at the exquisite pull of Myka's mouth, the tease and flutter of her tongue against skin that had been warmed by nothing but clothing and bronze in well over a century. Her breath tripped in stutters and pants, her hips twitched, and when Myka switched to the other side she couldn't help but release a sound—a moan—that would have embarrassed her in her previous life but now, as she felt Myka's hand slide down to cup her backside she found she couldn't care less about propriety.
"Myka," she breathed. "Myka."
Myka hadn't been with a woman in years—not since FLETC, where she'd somehow ended up in a brief, secret, and mind-bendingly torrid relationship with a fellow trainee named Jessie. She'd wondered, then, if feeling a woman come apart under your touch always brought this thrilling feeling of power and control, or if it was just something about Jessie; she had her answer, now, as she felt H.G.'s body—H.G. Wells' beautiful, time-traveling, genius body—hum under her fingers and tongue like a live wire, felt her knees tremble and twitch and occasionally bump the insides of Myka's bent thighs, heard her choke out her name like a plea. And so Myka saw no need to prolong things further; she kept her tongue touched to the sensitive tip of Helena's nipple as she unfastened the front of painted-on jeans and slid her hand inside.
Helena was warm and wet and slick against Myka's fingers, and her arms folded convulsively around Myka's neck when Myka softly dragged a fingernail along her clit. Helena's hips jerked, pressed forward against the inside of Myka's forearm and Myka responded by straightening, joining her lips to Helena's in a deep, open-mouthed kiss while two fingers slid slightly back and then pressed in, as far as they would go.
"Oh," Helena breathed into Myka's mouth. "Oh, Myka, that feels…"
Myka leaned forward, tucked her lips against the curve of H.G.'s shoulder and her chest—still fully-clothed—against H.G.'s bare torso, between the halves of her unbuttoned shirt and jacket and beneath the haphazardly bunched-up bra. Then she began to move, slowly at first, and then faster, deeper, as H.G.'s breaths came in staccato pants in her ear and her hips rolled with every stroke, and Myka made sure the heel of her hand caught H.G.'s clit every time. It was tight and awkward inside those fitted jeans but that was fine—this was a you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours fuck, this was Myka suppressing her grief and fears and memories for awhile and it was H.G.—well, Myka wasn't sure what this was, for H.G. They weren't in Myka's room, so this couldn't be about wanting to sneak a look in her briefcase. And she'd seen the way H.G. had looked at her in the bar, and all of her actions since then left no doubt regarding the mutual desire being addressed—that, and the little sounds she was making in Myka's ear, the fingernails digging into her back through her shirt, the leg curled around the back of her thigh pulling her closer, closer. So Myka threw the weight of her hip into her hand until H.G.'s entire body slid up and down against the laminate surface of the door with every thrust. There were H.G.'s teeth in the side of her neck, and then there was a cry – a harsh one, a little broken, and a hand that closed around Myka's wrist.
"Myka," H.G. gritted near her ear. "Slow—slow down. Please."
Myka blinked, glanced down and realized she had actually been lifting H.G. almost off her feet. Gently, she lowered her to the floor and slipped her hand free, though she kept it tucked inside H.G.'s clothes, resting against the low curve of her abdomen.
"I'm sorry," Myka said, her breath calming. "Got a little carried away, I guess."
"No need to apologize, darling." H.G. tipped her head forward until her cheek came to rest on Myka's shoulder, her breath coming in deep pants. "Normally, I'd quite like it, I should think. It's only that it's been quite some time, and my body… Well. Perhaps you can imagine."
Myka blinked twice, then pressed her brow forward against the door with a groan. "Oh, god, this is the first time for you since… since you…"
"Since the bronze, yes."
Myka slid her wet hand around until it rested over the curve of H.G.'s hip, elastic of her underwear cutting a sharp line across the back of her hand. "I'm an asshole," she said, shaking her head against the door. "Your first in a century and I go at you like some kind of animal."
"You're hardly an asshole, darling." The profanity that people bandied about so casually in these times, Helena thought. Honestly. "You wanted something. I wanted it, too." She slid her hand up Myka's neck so that her fingers could comb into her hair, and coaxed her head back from the door, so that with a turn of her head, their eyes could meet.
"I still want it," Helena continued, with a half-smile, "You are devilishly attractive."
An answering blush crept up Myka's neck from beneath the deep V of her shirt collar, its top buttons undone. Helena's gaze was drawn to the pinked skin, to the bare shadow of the curve between Myka's breasts just barely hidden. Her fingers slid down Myka's neck, across her collarbone, and down her sternum, until they fell against the topmost fastened button. She leaned forward, caressing Myka's cheek with her own until her lips found a soft earlobe, still teasing the soft skin of her chest.
"So while I want to be able to walk tomorrow—" she rolled her hips into Myka's—"I would still very much like to continue what we've begun."
Myka bit her lip just in time to catch a moan that threatened from her throat, and she nodded. Her hands slid to the safe territory of H.G.'s waist as she stepped back, wordlessly pulling them both to the edge of the nearest bed. Perched there, Myka fumbled her Farnsworth and cell phone out of her pocket and set them within easy reach on the nightstand. She pushed H.G.'s shirt and jacket off her shoulders and down her arms; then she reached around and unfastened the tangled bra to slide it off as well. She trailed her fingers over the slightly warm and swollen curve of a right shoulder ("A mild injury by Warehouse standards, I'd say," H.G. murmured) and then slipped to tug H.G.'s fingers to the buttons of her vest.
A few shed clothes, a push and twist later, Helena found herself pressed between rough, packed-down hotel pillows and soft, warm skin, the loose ends of thick curls ghosting over her chest as Myka—slower, as promised—slid down, down, her tongue tracing the curve of a breast, her teeth flirting with a stiff nipple, and kept travelling lower. Mesmerized, Helena propped herself up on her elbows to watch those long, square fingers hook inside her waistband and skin her trousers from her legs; kept watching while Myka stood at the foot of the bed and trailed her gaze from Helena's bare feet all the way to her eyes.
"God, H.G, you're…you're—"
"When I'm naked, darling, I'd much rather be 'Helena,' if you don't mind." Helena offered a crooked grin. "'H.G.,' in this era, makes me think of my brother."
Myka laughed through nervous lips and glanced down at the floor, incredulous. "Helena. Okay." She shook her head and muttered, " I can't believe that I'm about to go down on the mother of science fiction."
It wasn't a turn of phrase that Helena was familiar with, but she had learned by now how to half-cock an eyebrow into a facial expression that managed to convey co-conspiracy without needing to express understanding. H.G.'s eyebrows climbed further up her forehead, though, when Myka hooked her thumbs into her own waistband and bent over double to push them off.
"Myka…" she trailed off, her throat suddenly cracked and dry. Myka was long, and lean, and muscular, conveying poise that reflected well-honed self-control more than well-practiced decorum. As Myka slipped between her knees and began to crawl back up the bed, Helena's fingers flexed against the bedspread, imagining the firm resistance of the flesh of Myka's buttocks, the shallow groove of her spine, and—
Oh, dear God, that was her tongue.
Helena's shoulders gave out and she collapsed back against the pillows as Myka's palms pressed at her inner thighs, her tongue sliding over and into her, sucking and prodding and teasing. Within moments Helena had clapped a hand over her own mouth, her hips pressing up into Myka's lips and her heels digging hard into the mattress.
Myka had always enjoyed doing this and she committed to it fully, losing herself in the wet and the taste, filling her eyes with the sight of the arching body above her and her hands with the feel of straining muscles. H.G.'s – Helena's, she corrected—hips surged off the bed and Myka pressed them back down with a forearm across her abdomen. She shifted ever so slightly northward to wrap her lips where Helena liked them best and then she slipped her other hand lower, cradling her own chin in her palm as she slowly pushed two fingers inside. Helena moaned and then Myka did, too, low and deep in her throat.
If Myka had any lingering memory of her day, of the fear and sadness she'd felt a mere hour earlier, it was gone now, buried under a tidal wave of sensory input, deafened by the gasps escaping from between Helena's tightly-clenched lips and fingers.
Helena was adrift, her body no longer her own, helpless to do anything but fist one hand in curly hair and the other between her teeth as Myka's fingers and tongue pushed her to the very edge, even her breaths coming in pants timed to match Myka's thrusts.
Then Myka shifted, lifted herself up onto her knees to change her angle so she could combine quick flicks of her tongue against Helena's clitoris and deep, slow strokes of her fingers, and Helena leapt and fell, pelvis grinding down into the bed as her chest and torso arced up in blissful release.
Helena collapsed against the bed, panting, her body tensing slightly as Myka slipped her fingers free. It had been so long, so very long, since she had felt the arms of a lover, let alone spent under one's touch, and she rolled into Myka as Myka crawled up and stretched out alongside her, wiping her lips against the back of her hand.
"I can see again," Helena murmured into Myka's shoulder.
Myka chuckled and slipped an arm around her back.
For several long moments, they lay still. Myka felt Helena's breathing return to normal, her heart rate slowing.
Helena shifted onto her back and ran both hands over her face, once. She stretched, enjoying the lethargic pull in her muscles, and then let her body sink into the mattress. "I suppose we can consider the grappler repaid, then," she said.
Myka bolted upright. The grappler? Was this about the goddamn grappler? Had she just fucked a woman in repayment for a gift? Or—god, had she basically taken payment for sex?
Myka grabbed the pillow beside her and used it to cover herself as best she could when she shifted to glare down at H.G. "Dammit, H.G., was this really about the—"
Helena looked up at her, wide-eyed, from the pillow, and immediately, the venom dissipated. Myka scanned Helena's pulse, her wide eyes, the flare of her nostrils and the part of her lips. She read several emotions: surprise, nervousness, embarrassment—a lot of embarrassment. And beneath it all, in the darkness of those black irises, sadness.
"Did you really think this was about the grappler?" Myka asked, gently.
"Well, I…" Helena shrugged. "It seemed logical, given that was our last topic of conversation at the bar. And I can't say I've had many opportunities to learn about twenty-first century sexual economics."
Myka laughed a little. "Twenty-first century sexual economics," she repeated, lying down again. "I think it's fair to say that if anyone wants to use sex as a form of trade, they'll make that pretty clear to you before you start."
"Duly noted," Helena said, smiling. Cautiously she reached over, let the tips of her left fingertips trail against Myka's thigh. She felt the sweat and pleasant stickiness between her own thighs when they pressed together, recalled the feeling of offering her body up completely to Myka's touch.
"So," Helena said, "You're here with me simply because you want to be?"
"Yes," Myka said. She pushed away thoughts of Claudia's skin rippling, desperate to combust; pushed away memories of a gunshot and lifeless eyes, replacing them with the image of straining muscles and the feel of a beautiful woman's body convulsing around her fingers. "Because I want to be."
Helena shifted, rolling until she was stretched out overtop of Myka, knees planted between parted thighs. "You must think me a terribly selfish lover," Helena said with a playful grin. She trailed her left hand down the inside of Myka's right thigh until her fingertips hooked the soft underside of a knee, coaxing it up over her shoulder. "And we certainly can't have that," she breathed as she leaned down, pressing Myka's legs apart until she could reach her lips in a heated kiss.
Later, sweaty and sated, Myka and Helena lay in a tangle of cheap hotel sheets, catching their breath. Myka propped herself up on an elbow to glance at the clock.
"One-thirty," she said.
Helena had an arm thrown over her eyes. "Do you need to go somewhere?"
Myka grabbed her phone and set an alarm for 6:30. Then she switched off the light by the bed. "Yeah," she said, flopping back down onto the pillow. "Eventually."
Helena woke up to the alarm and then fell asleep again almost immediately. Myka got up and quietly dressed in her discarded clothing. She woke Helena gently, with a murmur of her name and fingers carded through black hair, before she left.
"I have to go," Myka whispered, once Helena had blinked herself awake. "Claudia... she can't know I was here. We shouldn't tell anyone this happened."
Helena nodded. "Of course, darling. Our secret's safe with me." She quirked a lip a little. "I'd tell you to send her my best wishes, but…"
"I thank you on her behalf," Myka said, smiling carefully. She leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on lips that still tasted of her body. "Goodbye, Helena."
"Goodbye, Myka. Travel safely today."
After Myka left the room, Helena crawled out of the disheveled bed they'd shared and slipped into the other bed—the one whose stiff bedspread hadn't been creased and broken in sex, and whose pillows didn't smell like another woman's shampoo—to try to sleep again.
In the third floor corridor, Myka used her second key to open Claudia's door just far enough to let her lean in and hear the girl's deep, heavy breathing in sleep. Then, in her own room, she undressed. Standing naked in the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror for long minutes before exhaling sharply and stepping into the shower.
For shits n' giggles, I'm stealing a page from hermitstull's (on AO3) book and saying:
This chapter includes a reference to one of my favorite queer films. The first person to spot the reference and name the film can give me a prompt for a Bering/Wells one-shot.
This fic was a bit of an experiment/challenge for me in terms of POV and narrative voice (call it... unreliable third-person omniscient?). Would love your thoughts/feedback on whether it worked.
