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piecesofalice Dec. 5th, 2007 11:40 pm)
piecesofalice Dec. 5th, 2007 11:40 pm)Look, I just had to get this out of my system. Then we can get on with the non-non-shipping, okey dokey?
TITLE: Morning, When Forgiveness Comes
FANDOM: Life, Dani and Roman
RATING: Oh, let's say M. For swearing and stuff.
DISCLAIMER: Of course they're not mine.
Morning, When Forgiveness Comes
Life-verse, 5th December 2007
---
NOTES: OH COME ON GUYS, YOU KNOW I HAD TO WRITE SOME DANI/ROMAN AND OMG I JUST HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM OR, LIKE, IT'D EAT ME ALIVE AND HELLO.
Ahem.
It helps if you've seen "The Fallen Woman", as this is an after-the-ep piece and Dani's still our little hurty drunk ball of sleeping with randoms fun. I imagine her inner brain being just a tirade of "will I/won't I"s, thus in this fic. Basically, I just wanted to smoosh Dani and Roman together because like the wise Mister Mellencamp once said - Hurts so good/C'mon baby make it hurt so good. I rest my case.
---
The glass is thin, like you could fall straight through it, and she thinks how stupid this is.
The vodka's cold but the society is low, the Natashas scouring and attacking like well-trained raptors in halter-necked dressed and thin, sky-high heels. But the drinks are free, because he knows she's here, and she's long shrugged off her work jacket and work shirt in favour of the cool, thin glass against her back as the summer rages outside.
Another drink, and she thinks she should stop. Pick up her ass, walk for the door and wander home to the Sex in the City marathon that no doubt would get her through the night otherwise, or call Crews who would just do nothing - but everything - and all of a sudden her head hurts like there are birds living inside it.
That's it, she sighs into an empty clinking glass, I've lost it. And hands stop her like hand cuffs and the game's gone from being in her control to into someone else's.
The fingers are long and snake around her wrist. The scent is expensive and European and Slavic, tangy and sweaty and boozy but she thinks that might be her.
She should ring Crews, and tell him where she is.
There's lips in her hair telling her why she's there in chipped, rough tones that she finds herself agreeing with. That's why she's here, and that's why she's being lead to the back room of a sociopath's club willingly and that's why she's panting like a bitch in heat.
She should ring Crews, and find out all his secrets from him, now, leave and ring him and find everything out and just leave now.
But why do that when the line that's so easy to skate can give her the same answers without all the complications?
---
I'd better read between the lines.
This isn't going to be easy, after all. Intimidation isn't something she's used to, but this man intimidates her because she's not entirely sure what he wants from her and what she wants from him.
"What did you say to him. At the elevator."
Slow blinking lids are partially hidden by curls of smoke, because he's smoking like a fucking chimney and it's starting to sting her eyes and hang in her hair. The question swims in the air, and he takes his time, watching and waiting and playing; running through her history in his head like a television program and not for the first time, she wants to shoot him in his smug face and claim self-defense.
"I will tell you, Detective Reese. If you want to know the answer."
The pause is pregnant. She hates the way he says her name, like he owns her. Why was she here. Call Crews. Leave.
"Tell me."
He pushes the cigarette into the ashtray, and smiles at her, teeth and venom. Arms out, and she curses herself for standing at arms length as he rubs his hands up and down; the small of her back, over her ass, resting on her upper leg. She curses herself for not moving away, for being such a screw up that this feels more normal than snuggling into a pillow in an empty bed after a dinner of Lean Cuisine and half a glass of red.
Legs collapsing, she straddles him and she begins to kiss him like there's nothing left to say, even though she was waiting for the answer to complete the puzzle. He's lean, wiry, not muscly, and she can imagine him being picked on and beaten upon. Every person has a story, the roads that lead them to a certain place in time, and she struggles with his shirt and pants as she struggles more with imagining this man as a child with dreams and a favourite toy.
This is not the first time she's fucked for answers. It's just the first time she's wanted to, and he's got her breasts in his hands, then down her pants then everything flips to a wave because that's how answers are gotten in her world and she hates herself as she pushes her tongue into his mouth and herself onto him in the back office of his sleazy, scungy club.
For a moment, a blinding, horrible moment she thinks of Charlie and how jail must be even worse than the hell she's created for herself. He's holding onto her sides and looking into her eyes, and she closes hers because of the awful, awful reality that's reflected in him, back at her.
It's over, and he tosses her aside before making calls in a dialect she doesn't understand. Dismissed, she gathers her clothes and what's left of her dignity, not pausing to look back. The door closes behind her, and she wants to have a shower so badly, it stings.
She doesn't get her answer.
She never sees this torturous man again.
She calls Charlie, and he seems surprised, but she makes up some excuse about work and he forgives her.
I'll see you in my dreams.
Everything is forgiven in the morning.
---
Fin.
---
WHAT. I can see you looking at me like that. I can!
I'm going to bed.
TITLE: Morning, When Forgiveness Comes
FANDOM: Life, Dani and Roman
RATING: Oh, let's say M. For swearing and stuff.
DISCLAIMER: Of course they're not mine.
Morning, When Forgiveness Comes
Life-verse, 5th December 2007
---
NOTES: OH COME ON GUYS, YOU KNOW I HAD TO WRITE SOME DANI/ROMAN AND OMG I JUST HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM OR, LIKE, IT'D EAT ME ALIVE AND HELLO.
Ahem.
It helps if you've seen "The Fallen Woman", as this is an after-the-ep piece and Dani's still our little hurty drunk ball of sleeping with randoms fun. I imagine her inner brain being just a tirade of "will I/won't I"s, thus in this fic. Basically, I just wanted to smoosh Dani and Roman together because like the wise Mister Mellencamp once said - Hurts so good/C'mon baby make it hurt so good. I rest my case.
---
The glass is thin, like you could fall straight through it, and she thinks how stupid this is.
The vodka's cold but the society is low, the Natashas scouring and attacking like well-trained raptors in halter-necked dressed and thin, sky-high heels. But the drinks are free, because he knows she's here, and she's long shrugged off her work jacket and work shirt in favour of the cool, thin glass against her back as the summer rages outside.
Another drink, and she thinks she should stop. Pick up her ass, walk for the door and wander home to the Sex in the City marathon that no doubt would get her through the night otherwise, or call Crews who would just do nothing - but everything - and all of a sudden her head hurts like there are birds living inside it.
That's it, she sighs into an empty clinking glass, I've lost it. And hands stop her like hand cuffs and the game's gone from being in her control to into someone else's.
The fingers are long and snake around her wrist. The scent is expensive and European and Slavic, tangy and sweaty and boozy but she thinks that might be her.
She should ring Crews, and tell him where she is.
There's lips in her hair telling her why she's there in chipped, rough tones that she finds herself agreeing with. That's why she's here, and that's why she's being lead to the back room of a sociopath's club willingly and that's why she's panting like a bitch in heat.
She should ring Crews, and find out all his secrets from him, now, leave and ring him and find everything out and just leave now.
But why do that when the line that's so easy to skate can give her the same answers without all the complications?
---
I'd better read between the lines.
This isn't going to be easy, after all. Intimidation isn't something she's used to, but this man intimidates her because she's not entirely sure what he wants from her and what she wants from him.
"What did you say to him. At the elevator."
Slow blinking lids are partially hidden by curls of smoke, because he's smoking like a fucking chimney and it's starting to sting her eyes and hang in her hair. The question swims in the air, and he takes his time, watching and waiting and playing; running through her history in his head like a television program and not for the first time, she wants to shoot him in his smug face and claim self-defense.
"I will tell you, Detective Reese. If you want to know the answer."
The pause is pregnant. She hates the way he says her name, like he owns her. Why was she here. Call Crews. Leave.
"Tell me."
He pushes the cigarette into the ashtray, and smiles at her, teeth and venom. Arms out, and she curses herself for standing at arms length as he rubs his hands up and down; the small of her back, over her ass, resting on her upper leg. She curses herself for not moving away, for being such a screw up that this feels more normal than snuggling into a pillow in an empty bed after a dinner of Lean Cuisine and half a glass of red.
Legs collapsing, she straddles him and she begins to kiss him like there's nothing left to say, even though she was waiting for the answer to complete the puzzle. He's lean, wiry, not muscly, and she can imagine him being picked on and beaten upon. Every person has a story, the roads that lead them to a certain place in time, and she struggles with his shirt and pants as she struggles more with imagining this man as a child with dreams and a favourite toy.
This is not the first time she's fucked for answers. It's just the first time she's wanted to, and he's got her breasts in his hands, then down her pants then everything flips to a wave because that's how answers are gotten in her world and she hates herself as she pushes her tongue into his mouth and herself onto him in the back office of his sleazy, scungy club.
For a moment, a blinding, horrible moment she thinks of Charlie and how jail must be even worse than the hell she's created for herself. He's holding onto her sides and looking into her eyes, and she closes hers because of the awful, awful reality that's reflected in him, back at her.
It's over, and he tosses her aside before making calls in a dialect she doesn't understand. Dismissed, she gathers her clothes and what's left of her dignity, not pausing to look back. The door closes behind her, and she wants to have a shower so badly, it stings.
She doesn't get her answer.
She never sees this torturous man again.
She calls Charlie, and he seems surprised, but she makes up some excuse about work and he forgives her.
I'll see you in my dreams.
Everything is forgiven in the morning.
---
Fin.
---
WHAT. I can see you looking at me like that. I can!
I'm going to bed.
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It's like a form of self-torture I swear. For me and Dani.
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Hurts so good/C'mon baby make it hurt so good - Yup, that's about right.
I love the way Dani keeps going back to 'leaving' and 'calling Charlie' throughout.
Just fantastic!
Your writing blows me away.
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It was amazing. The confusion and ache was so palpable, as was, you know, the other stuff.
From:
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:D
Part of me wonders if I was all like, "Sarah Shahi/Garret Dillahunt! Hot!" and wrote this.
From:
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And then I was all, "ZOMG, that's perfect! He could protect her from Tolliver! She wants babies!"
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I love Kim. She gets all the boys.
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Also, it looks like Lefty Kim is trying to make a getaway. Go, Lefty Kim, go!
From:
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I'm tempted to Photoshop myself in there.I would never say anything lame, Jess! You know!
I think they were each other's date. Not her boobs, Garret and Kim. EEEEEE
From:
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(Go, Garrett! You scalawag! Kim is a fox.)
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I mean, if I was forced to. And Garret's wife. And Farmer!Titus.
Smutty!
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*stares at fic*
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This just ... sings. And this:
She curses herself for not moving away, for being such a screw up that this feels more normal than snuggling into a pillow in an empty bed after a dinner of Lean Cuisine and half a glass of red.
That's her, that's my girl, and that's Charlie, too, in that sometimes you just want to burn it all down.
A.
From:
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That's them to a tee. There's so much to say with these two, and just so little fic.
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That was...intense. I put off reading this because I was sure it would squick me, but now I'm glad I finally did read it. That having been said, it DID squick me bigtime, but it was really well-written. It was the good kind of squick. Did that make any sense at all?
I love the Dani monologue in her head, the imagery of the Natashas circling like raptors, the way she thinks it's less complicated to fuck a pimp and a murderer than just ask Charlie a question. And I kind of love that you imply that it's bad sex. Because yeah, Roman would probably be more interested in humiliating her (and then failing to answer her question) than getting her off.
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You're completely right when you say he'd be more interested in humiliating her. Thank you for understanding ;)