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sfa_pornbattle. And this time, I think I actually managed the porn part of the equation -_-; Sort of, anyway.
Title: Teeth and Bullets
Rating: R
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Kate Freelander/Nikola Tesla
Summary: They don't apologise
Wordcount: 811
Prompt: Kate/Nikola, no apologies
Warnings: Erm. Me and porn. Possibly not a good mix -_-; Also, my first Kate fic
Disclaimer: Not mine, for safety's sake
sfa_pornbattle. And this time, I think I actually managed the porn part of the equation -_-; Sort of, anyway.Title: Teeth and Bullets
Rating: R
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Kate Freelander/Nikola Tesla
Summary: They don't apologise
Wordcount: 811
Prompt: Kate/Nikola, no apologies
Warnings: Erm. Me and porn. Possibly not a good mix -_-; Also, my first Kate fic
Disclaimer: Not mine, for safety's sake
Teeth and Bullets
He has neat hands, Kate thinks. Clever hands. Elegant, maybe. Neat hands and a smug smile, a smarmy little grin that says he knows he's the hottest thing in the room by default. That shouldn't be attractive, the Mr Smooth thing should be getting real annoying, real fast, but it's not. It's not, and she knows why, but she's not thinking about that, just now. Not just yet.
Those neat, clever hands move over her. Slide up beneath her shirt, his fingertips just grazing the undersides of her breasts, the pads of his thumbs coming up to rub at the sensitive flesh. She can feel calluses, there, can feel the lines dug into his skin, hands that have been used for all their neatness, and idly she wonders if those weals were marked into him before or after he became what he became. Idly, she wonders if she's feeling the marks of work over a hundred years old.
He grins at her, that smug little curl for the hitch in her breath, a flash in his eyes for the glare she sends him. Delight at her daring, at her temper. Encouragement. But Kate's not moving yet. He's Mr Smooth, after all. Let him make the moves for a while. Let him show her what he's got, and see if it lives up to the grinning promise in his eyes.
He laughs, and dips his head to her breasts, mouths at her through her shirt, the fabric damp and scratchy and tantalising as it moves with the pulse of his tongue over her nipples. She moans faintly, shudders, and feels his grin around her breast as his hands, those clever hands, slip lower. Slide over her hips, mapping the curve of her, slipping beneath the waist of her pants. Coaxing her hips to rise as he mouths a line down her stomach, fingers tangling in her underwear as he pulls it down in one smooth motion when she rolls up into him, biting softly at her navel.
"Watch the teeth, mister," she growls softly, panting as he dips lower again. She hasn't forgotten what he was. Won't ever forget. She works with monsters for a living, even if some of them weren't the monsters she thought. He just grins at her, a quick flash as his eyes rise to hers, something dark and daring in them for a second. One second. Then his head drops again, and his tongue slides a gentle line along the crease of her thigh, his head turning so that his teeth graze, just graze, her flesh. A low laugh, rumbling as he laps at her, daring her to gainsay him.
She doesn't, but only because that mouth is proving well capable of living up to its smooth promises.
He drifts lower, for a moment, a nuzzled exploration of her thighs, hands skating down to cup the bones of her knees, thumbs working into the hollows just under the caps. He pauses, briefly, when the texture changes under his lips, when his questing mouth finds the thin, pale line of a scar on her right thigh. One of a few, really, but he stops over it, moves one hand up to trace it lightly, and his eyes tilt up to ask her. Maybe he knows this one. He was there, sort of, when she came by it.
"Comes with the territory," Kate rasps softly, defiant, deliberately unashamed. This is who she is. This is her work, and yeah, sometimes she hasn't always been on the side of angels with that work. Sometimes she hasn't always been nice, and sometimes she's paid for it. He's not in a position to say anything, there. He can damn well deal with it if she can.
But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything except watch her, for another moment, a heartbeat, and then smile. That smug, smarmy grin, but it's not about him, this time. She recognises that. It's about her, and them, and the scars they bear for being unashamed of who they are, who they've been. His teeth, her bullets, and a cocky grin that says 'I'm still me, and screw you anyway, I like it'.
No shame. No apologies. Screw the world anyway. And if he can take it, so can she.
Nikola Tesla smiles at her, and slips neat, clever hands up her thigh. Works his thumb along the pale, white line, leans down to lap between her legs, to mouth with tongue and teeth inside her. To remind her. To celebrate her. To show her a damn good time, and make good on a pile of pretty promises.
Kate gasps, and pants, and rolls her hips into his mouth, and through it, feels her face stretch into a grin. Into a smug, smarmy smile, to match the one she can feel against her skin.
Hells yeah, no apologies! Hang on, Nikola Tesla. You ain't seen nothing yet.
He has neat hands, Kate thinks. Clever hands. Elegant, maybe. Neat hands and a smug smile, a smarmy little grin that says he knows he's the hottest thing in the room by default. That shouldn't be attractive, the Mr Smooth thing should be getting real annoying, real fast, but it's not. It's not, and she knows why, but she's not thinking about that, just now. Not just yet.
Those neat, clever hands move over her. Slide up beneath her shirt, his fingertips just grazing the undersides of her breasts, the pads of his thumbs coming up to rub at the sensitive flesh. She can feel calluses, there, can feel the lines dug into his skin, hands that have been used for all their neatness, and idly she wonders if those weals were marked into him before or after he became what he became. Idly, she wonders if she's feeling the marks of work over a hundred years old.
He grins at her, that smug little curl for the hitch in her breath, a flash in his eyes for the glare she sends him. Delight at her daring, at her temper. Encouragement. But Kate's not moving yet. He's Mr Smooth, after all. Let him make the moves for a while. Let him show her what he's got, and see if it lives up to the grinning promise in his eyes.
He laughs, and dips his head to her breasts, mouths at her through her shirt, the fabric damp and scratchy and tantalising as it moves with the pulse of his tongue over her nipples. She moans faintly, shudders, and feels his grin around her breast as his hands, those clever hands, slip lower. Slide over her hips, mapping the curve of her, slipping beneath the waist of her pants. Coaxing her hips to rise as he mouths a line down her stomach, fingers tangling in her underwear as he pulls it down in one smooth motion when she rolls up into him, biting softly at her navel.
"Watch the teeth, mister," she growls softly, panting as he dips lower again. She hasn't forgotten what he was. Won't ever forget. She works with monsters for a living, even if some of them weren't the monsters she thought. He just grins at her, a quick flash as his eyes rise to hers, something dark and daring in them for a second. One second. Then his head drops again, and his tongue slides a gentle line along the crease of her thigh, his head turning so that his teeth graze, just graze, her flesh. A low laugh, rumbling as he laps at her, daring her to gainsay him.
She doesn't, but only because that mouth is proving well capable of living up to its smooth promises.
He drifts lower, for a moment, a nuzzled exploration of her thighs, hands skating down to cup the bones of her knees, thumbs working into the hollows just under the caps. He pauses, briefly, when the texture changes under his lips, when his questing mouth finds the thin, pale line of a scar on her right thigh. One of a few, really, but he stops over it, moves one hand up to trace it lightly, and his eyes tilt up to ask her. Maybe he knows this one. He was there, sort of, when she came by it.
"Comes with the territory," Kate rasps softly, defiant, deliberately unashamed. This is who she is. This is her work, and yeah, sometimes she hasn't always been on the side of angels with that work. Sometimes she hasn't always been nice, and sometimes she's paid for it. He's not in a position to say anything, there. He can damn well deal with it if she can.
But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything except watch her, for another moment, a heartbeat, and then smile. That smug, smarmy grin, but it's not about him, this time. She recognises that. It's about her, and them, and the scars they bear for being unashamed of who they are, who they've been. His teeth, her bullets, and a cocky grin that says 'I'm still me, and screw you anyway, I like it'.
No shame. No apologies. Screw the world anyway. And if he can take it, so can she.
Nikola Tesla smiles at her, and slips neat, clever hands up her thigh. Works his thumb along the pale, white line, leans down to lap between her legs, to mouth with tongue and teeth inside her. To remind her. To celebrate her. To show her a damn good time, and make good on a pile of pretty promises.
Kate gasps, and pants, and rolls her hips into his mouth, and through it, feels her face stretch into a grin. Into a smug, smarmy smile, to match the one she can feel against her skin.
Hells yeah, no apologies! Hang on, Nikola Tesla. You ain't seen nothing yet.
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