Twist
Email Shimi : ([email protected])
Disclaimer: The story is mine, the characters belong to Jason K. You the
man!!!
Summary: Somebody’s feeling the heat; Answer to a short fic challenge
about the image of Maria, Isabel, and Tess dancing together in one of the
season two promos.
Category: Unconventional Couples
Rating: R
Authors Note: Thanks: Margaret, for being a cauldron of perversity. Final
version Sept 6 00
He’s hot all over. It’s a sensation he never thought he’d feel. He was
always cool to the touch before, once she had grabbed his arm to argue
with him and then she jerked her hand away, eyes wide with pain... he had
literally given her frostbite. But now...
Sometimes in his dreams, she comes to him and touches him softly. She
crawls over his body and brushes her curls over his chest. Her lips open,
slightly cool and sticky and, latch onto his nipple, ever so teasingly. He
despises his body. He has no control over it after all.
Sometimes, she cuddles into his lap and cries. She wants something he can
never give her. He cajoles, he pleads, he threatens, he lectures. She
turns her head around and smiles at him. Then her little lips open again
and her tongue... he despises his body. He has no control over it after
all.
Sometimes, as he wanders through his drab apartment, filled with files and
crates of pictures and Most Wanted posters, he thinks he sees her
everywhere. These are the worst times. She is pale, standing in his
bedroom door. She is iridescence, vamping in his shower. She is at once
irritated and seductive, eating fried chicken, naked, at his breakfast
table. He knows she isn’t really there, she’s miles away, but his blood
shocks and re-charges under his skin. He despises his body. He has no
control over it after all.
He twists the sheets. He hasn’t gotten used to them. He never needed them
before, he never needed to sleep before. He could watch her better that
way. It feels like no one ever really knew him before, no matter who he
chose to be. Now he vibrates all over, it’s hard to miss. Women stare at
him, he can feel their interest and desire. It seems like he could have
done something about that, once. But now she has him in her tiny hands and
he twists and twists and twists.
Tonight she is dancing. Her hair is longer (He misses watching it grow. It
made a little sound, a soft murmur. He never told her that.). She is
swaying from side to side, slim-hipped and full of grace. She is laughing
and a strap slides off her shoulder and falls right under the curve of her
breast. It should fall any second now. It doesn’t. What is she doing
there? Why can’t she feel him? Then she looks up under a fall of blond
hair and smiles. Of course she knows. That’s why she’s off to the side,
barely in his sight line. Isabel is front and centre of course, swaying
regally and barely messing her artfully arranged hair. Such a princess.
The other little one, shimmying with enough suppressed intensity to power
the whole town, trying to be as unavailable as possible to that one person
she’s dancing but not dancing for, sneaks glances over to the door just
the same.
But she is dancing off to the side, just out of his sight line because she
knows. She doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge yet but she knows,
he’s sure of it. He had kept it hidden for so long, even from himself.
He’s not there to feel, or to want. He’s there to do a job. Not to do....
He hadn’t been able to shape shift fast enough, leave fast enough. He
couldn’t explain it but he knew time was running out. Time was handcuffed
to those damned orbs, and as he scrambled across the sand he felt the
white-hot heat knife through his groin as the four of them activated the
instruments of their destiny, and his shame. Now he’s hot all over, and he
twists and twists and he despises his body.
Tess twists and twists to some cosmic rhythm and she is cool and confident
and smiling, outshining her fellow blondes. The room is empty, save for
them. Then she looks up and her smile slips. She is uncertain and picks at
the hanging strap. She licks her shimmery pink lips and looks straight at
him. She’s looking straight at him.
"We can’t," she murmurs. Then her voice changes. " Please...."
He steps into her sight line, just because he can. Isabel and Maria are
dancing around each other now, sad and angry, sneaking glances at the
empty door. Isabel and Maria are closing their eyes now, Isabel’s hands in
Maria’s hair, Maria’s lips on Isabel’s neck. Their golden locks mingle as
they twist softly in each other’s arms.
His hands curve around her slender shoulders. He looks into her endlessly
cerulean blue eyes. She’s hot all over too. He leans into her ear, and
breathes very softly. This part is new to him. He opens his mouth and he
can feel her sway just slightly into his grasp.
" I’ll be anyone you want me to be," he says and a thrill runs through
him. He’s wanted to say it that way for a while. He means it. His words
twist in the air. His cells tighten in preparation, in anticipation. They
both turn and look at each other in the mirror lining the wall. Isabel and
Maria are gone. He looks at her and she looks at him. The silence is sharp
and attentive between them.
"Be who you are," she says at last, her voice ending on a sob, and her
little hands unpin his FBI badge from his jacket. His current identity
mocks him beneath its plastic shelter as it twists and twists in the air.
It clatters on the floor with a tiny ping, along with his buttons, like
rain, like ice-cubes, like falling stars. Then her fingers are melting
down his body and they both crumple to the floor on top of their clothes
and she is calling him by his true and secret name , sweetly, urgently,
piercingly, and he is on her and in her and....
He wakes up twisted in his sheets, her tart, lemony scent on his skin. He
wonders how he smells on her, as she lies in her pearly pink bed, alone in
that house, without him. His fingers tighten in the cheap cotton and he
hears a satisfying rip. He despises his body. He has no control over it
after all.
-the end-
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