Teen Wolf fic: Like Smoke Across Fire (Allison Argent/Erica Reyes)
Title: Like Smoke Across Fire
Author: Carla
Characters/Pairings: Allison Argent/Erica Reyes, Lydia Martin, Melissa McCall, Scott McCall, Derek Hale
Rating: 16+
Setting: Loosely after Teen Wolf series two
Written for:
likeadeuce for Femslash 2012
Summary: Allison's world is a world of women and wolves.
That these fresh claw-marks showed without a doubt
These were the very animals we sought,
The two great wolves and their two stripling cubs.
And then we all prepared our hunting knives
“The Death of the Wolf” by Alfred de Vigny
English translation by Stan Solomons
1.
Erica drags her chair closer - too close - until her legs press against Allison’s, and the heat from her body makes Allison’s skin prickle. “Chemical reactions,” she murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear. “Mix and spark. Sometimes they fizzle out.” Warm breath against her neck, and when the hell did she get that close? “Sometimes they burn.”
It’s so wrong - werewolf hunter and werewolf, and she really loves Scott, even after everything - but for a second, all she wants to do is grab Erica and burn.
2.
Allison sits on the edge of her bed, feet tucked back into the shadows, watching the creep of moonlight across the roof and in through her window. Somewhere outside beneath that great white light, Scott runs, maybe with the others, and she can’t separate one terrible emotion from the next.
The moonlight catches the mirror, the sharp tips of her arrows scattered haphazardly across the desk, and it washes over her.
She is nothing like them, the monsters she knows and the ones she does not. She is nothing like them at all, and yet, the moon, so big and so bright, it makes her feel angry and strong. She knows what it does to them, the animals it calls, and her body wants to respond.
Hunter, hunted, and she is no prey.
3.
She can feel them watching her, all those damn werewolves staring at her as she walks from class to class. Only Scott looks at her with sadness, all puppy dog eyes and sheepish grin whenever she looks up. The others, they just watch, and wait, mostly.
Erica, though, sometimes when she stares, all Allison sees is hunger.
4.
Allison shuffles to the door. It’s Friday night, and she’s not expecting company. She doesn’t want company, but she doesn’t want to be alone either. She has no idea where her father is. Maybe he’s out hunting werewolves, but she doubts it. Maybe he’s sitting at the edge of Mom’s grave. He’s come home with dirt on his hands three nights this week.
It makes her shudder, to think of him maybe touching the edge of Mom’s grave, maybe thinking about digging his way down to her.
(She can hear it now, what they’ll say at school, small town gossip fast and cruel: Both her parents are crazy, Mom killed herself and Dad’s lost it, and that’s such a shitty thing to say.)
Lydia’s at the door, looking as perfect and perky as the day they first met. Next to her, Allison feels even sadder and more tired, exhaustion and mourning making her bones heavy and her head fuzzy. All she wants to do is sleep.
“I come bearing gifts.” Lydia’s smile is bright, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she hesitates at the open door, not striding in with her usual confidence.
Guilt stabs through Allison. How many secrets did she keep, even when she railed at her parents for lying to her, for hiding things to protect her? She knows better, and yet still she did the same damn thing.
“Come in,” Allison says and slumps out of the way.
Allison pulls the curtains, blocking out the darkness and the shadows over the moon, while Lydia spreads out her gifts. They have food, both salty and sweet, and a wide array of nail polishes and make-up. She’s so good with her brushes, but it makes sense when Allison thinks about it. She’s also good at chemistry, amazing really, and what is applying make-up but combining chemicals?
They don’t say anything as Allison sits on the bed, then Lydia sighs and gestures to the box of nail polish.
“Pick a color, any color,” she says. Allison starts to pick black, but she hates black nail polish. Instead she settles on a red so dark it’s almost black until the light hits it.
Lydia doesn’t start on the polish right away. Instead she starts going over Allison’s nails with a soft file, buffing them gently. The scrape of it against her nails and skin is strangely pleasant, and a chill races down her spine.
The lamplight chases away any moonlight that sneaks around the edges of the curtains, and Allison lets out a little sigh. Lydia hesitates a moment, her fingers still against Allison’s hand, then continues carefully shaping her nails.
Lydia paints with a steady hand, one stripe down the middle of the nail and one stripe down each side, leaving behind a thin, perfect layer of polish. The smell is sharp, the color not as deep as she hoped, at least not with the first layer, but Lydia isn’t done, and she can be patient.
“So,” Allison says on a sigh, “my ex-boyfriend is a werewolf.”
Lydia nods, hands steady. “Mine is a lizard monster. Think there’s something in the water?”
That gets a bit of a laugh. “Must be.” She shifts her weight, stretching one leg far out to the side, trying not to jostle her hand too much. “Good thing we’re too smart to drink it.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m smart.” Lydia’s fingers clench around Allison’s, but she doesn’t smudge the wet polish. “So smart I brought a werewolf back from the dead.”
That should be a conversation killer, but it’s not. Instead it breaks the tension between them, and Allison feels her shoulders relax.
“My family’d love to make him dead again, I’m sure.” Allison takes a big breath and slumps forward. “Can you believe this is our lives? Packs of werewolves and rogue lizard monsters and things coming back from the dead? My grandfather--” She can’t finish that sentence.
“This really, really sucks,” Lydia says, and keeps painting.
By the time she’s done, Allison’s nails are dark red-black and flecked with silver like a field of stars.
#
Later, in the darkness, stretched out side by side on Allison’s bed, Lydia’s breathing is steady and calm, and Allison can finally say what she’s been meaning to say for awhile.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
Lydia’s voice is clear. “For what?”
“Keeping secrets,” Allison tries, then, “and lying to you.”
“True, that was a shitty thing to do.”
“We just wanted to keep you safe, you know. But not like that.”
“Pretty sure there isn’t safe hanging out with you guys. I’ve been bitten. I know what’s out there. I brought a werewolf back from the dead. Kinda think I’m in the middle of this already.”
“Yeah. I know.”
They’re silent for awhile longer, so long Allison thinks Lydia might have fallen asleep, but then she feels cool, soft fingers on her wrist. “I’m sorry about your mom,” Lydia whispers in the darkness.
“Me too.” Allison’s eyes burn, but even when she blinks, she doesn’t cry.
5.
There’s only a slight huff of air to give her away, but still Allison freezes, one hand on her locker door. She drops the other hand to her side, to the knife hidden at her waist. (Because now she is the girl who wears knives tucked into her belt.) Slender fingers wrap around her wrist, warm and dry and smooth, and a quiet giggle tips into her ear.
“Chemistry,” Erica murmurs. “Such an interesting thing.”
“Don’t touch me.” Allison takes a step to the side. She doesn’t get far before Erica’s pressed against her again, breasts against her back, both hands dropping to curl around her hips. “Let me go before I make you.”
“Little werewolf hunter scared of the big bad wolf.” Erica giggles again and steps even closer, nudging one leg between Allison’s.
“I am not afraid of you.”
Hot breath and then warm lips against the side of her neck. Allison shies away, but Erica is holding her so tight. Allison’s fingers rest against her knife, the leather hilt smooth and comfortable. She doesn’t draw it, though. She leaves it tucked away.
Erica kisses her neck again, this time with a hint of teeth and tongue.
“No biting.” Allison drives her elbow back, catching Erica hard in the ribs. That gets her a grunt and Erica lets go for a moment, body curving in to protect her vulnerable places. Allison steps back into her, bringing their legs together. “No teeth and no claws.”
“No biting,” Erica promises, but she’s laughing at the same time. Then she shoves Allison against her open locker; Allison’s face presses into the shadows, and she squeezes shut her eyes as Erica works one hand up under her skirt.
The hallway is empty and strangely silent, all the good little boys and girls tucked away inside their classrooms. It won’t last, it never does, in just a second someone will come out and find them, and oh, won’t her classmates stare then, poor Allison with her murderous aunt and her suicidal mother-
She cuts that thought off sharp, anger and sadness all twisted up inside.
“What are you waiting for?” She snaps her hips back against Erica. “Get on with it or let me go.”
“So impatient.” Erica teases her fingers along the edge of Allison’s underwear, bikini cut bright blue cotton, both comfortable and cute. Not that she really expects anyone to see it these days, not with Scott all puppy-dog eyes and everyone else keeping their distance. But then there’s Erica, taunting and teasing and tormenting Allison for no reason she can fathom except maybe that she’s become a sexy predatory wolf and now she can.
“Yes,” Allison starts to say, short and simple elongating into a hiss as Erica pushes her hand down inside Allison’s panties and drags three fingers over her clit. “Just like that. Hurry.”
Erica hooks a thumb, spreading Allison open and spreading her wetness until her fingers slip over her clit with ease. Allison squeezes her knife with one hand, and grabs Erica’s wrist with the other, forcing her to move in tight little circles right where she wants her.
It’s just enough, the speed and that perfect pressure and the thrill of maybe getting caught. Allison bucks her hips forward and back, thrusting into Erica’s touch and then grinding back against her, and keens.
“Such a big mouth you have.” Erica slaps her palm over Allison’s lips, muffling the noises she makes as she comes and comes. In the stillness of the hallway, she can hear the slightly obscene sound of fingers moving against wet skin.
“Mmph,” Allison says, then twists her head sharply away from Erica, freeing her mouth. “You have got to stop the little red riding hood jokes.”
Tongue and teeth again to the side of her throat. “What a big tongue I have, and maybe next time I’ll get to use it.” For a moment, Allison is struck by the thought of Erica on her knees, arms positioned just so to hold Allison’s skirt out of the way, and it makes her shiver.
There’s movement, and though Allison doesn’t turn to look, she can guess that Erica licks her fingers clean.
“Have I got a question for you,” Erica sing-songs. “Alli-Alli Argent, hunts with silver and with bow. Who are you punishing exactly? Me? You?” Her voice goes serious. “Or Scott?”
Scott. Allison isn’t punishing anyone, but hearing his name makes her sad.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Erica swats Allison’s butt lightly, and her boots tap as she dances back out of the way. “I’m not ready for our little game to end.”
Allison tips her head against the locker next to hers, the metal cool against her skin.
6.
The headstone stands out from all the others, bright white marble, shiny and new. She skirts around the edge of the grave, careful not to step on the place her mother is buried. (It’s an old superstition, and silly after everything she knows now, but she can’t shake it.)
The sun is setting, but there’s still more than enough light to see. She traces the edge of the marble, staring at the letters and numbers, carving all that’s left of her mother into stone, her name, the day she was born, the day she died, and this, words for her: ad astra per aspera.
“I wish you could understand,” she says. “I love you, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry what happened to you, but I can’t.” Her voice catches in her throat. “I can’t hunt them, not the way you did. Your code, it fails again and again. And the ones I know - they need me.”
It’s not quite silence that answers her. She can hear leaves moving in the wind, cars in the distance, her own breath slightly too fast.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, and leans against the stone.
7.
Lydia’s waiting for her at the cemetery gate, and together they head over to Scott’s. His mom answers the door and though she looks tired, she smiles at them. In the background, Allison can hear the others.
“I’m glad to see you, honey. Come here.” Ms. McCall says, and opens her arms. Allison hesitates, then steps into the hug, her arms tight around Ms. McCall’s waist. She gives good hugs, warm and strong, and something loosens deep in Allison’s chest.
Lydia pats her shoulder as she passes, and heads into the house.
Finally, Allison steps back. “So,” she says, and sniffs a little, but she’s not going to cry. “What’s going on? Scott’s message was a little - garbled.”
“Completely unclear? He gets all worked up, doesn’t he?” This time, her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “For good reason this time, maybe.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s another pack coming.” Derek’s standing in the middle of the living room, everyone else - the werewolf pack, and Lydia, and Scott - spread around him.
“What do they want?”
He scowls at her, or maybe he just scowls, he looks like that a lot. “What all alphas want,” he says, and if he’s including himself in that, so be it. “Power.”
She flexes her hand, wishing for the bow in the backseat of her car, but he’s no threat to her. If this new pack is, well, she has Lydia’s genius and Scott and she’ll make her stand here, this mixed human and wolf pack.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/356199.html with
comments. Reply here or there.
Author: Carla
Characters/Pairings: Allison Argent/Erica Reyes, Lydia Martin, Melissa McCall, Scott McCall, Derek Hale
Rating: 16+
Setting: Loosely after Teen Wolf series two
Written for:
likeadeuce for Femslash 2012
Summary: Allison's world is a world of women and wolves.
That these fresh claw-marks showed without a doubt
These were the very animals we sought,
The two great wolves and their two stripling cubs.
And then we all prepared our hunting knives
“The Death of the Wolf” by Alfred de Vigny
English translation by Stan Solomons
1.
Erica drags her chair closer - too close - until her legs press against Allison’s, and the heat from her body makes Allison’s skin prickle. “Chemical reactions,” she murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear. “Mix and spark. Sometimes they fizzle out.” Warm breath against her neck, and when the hell did she get that close? “Sometimes they burn.”
It’s so wrong - werewolf hunter and werewolf, and she really loves Scott, even after everything - but for a second, all she wants to do is grab Erica and burn.
2.
Allison sits on the edge of her bed, feet tucked back into the shadows, watching the creep of moonlight across the roof and in through her window. Somewhere outside beneath that great white light, Scott runs, maybe with the others, and she can’t separate one terrible emotion from the next.
The moonlight catches the mirror, the sharp tips of her arrows scattered haphazardly across the desk, and it washes over her.
She is nothing like them, the monsters she knows and the ones she does not. She is nothing like them at all, and yet, the moon, so big and so bright, it makes her feel angry and strong. She knows what it does to them, the animals it calls, and her body wants to respond.
Hunter, hunted, and she is no prey.
3.
She can feel them watching her, all those damn werewolves staring at her as she walks from class to class. Only Scott looks at her with sadness, all puppy dog eyes and sheepish grin whenever she looks up. The others, they just watch, and wait, mostly.
Erica, though, sometimes when she stares, all Allison sees is hunger.
4.
Allison shuffles to the door. It’s Friday night, and she’s not expecting company. She doesn’t want company, but she doesn’t want to be alone either. She has no idea where her father is. Maybe he’s out hunting werewolves, but she doubts it. Maybe he’s sitting at the edge of Mom’s grave. He’s come home with dirt on his hands three nights this week.
It makes her shudder, to think of him maybe touching the edge of Mom’s grave, maybe thinking about digging his way down to her.
(She can hear it now, what they’ll say at school, small town gossip fast and cruel: Both her parents are crazy, Mom killed herself and Dad’s lost it, and that’s such a shitty thing to say.)
Lydia’s at the door, looking as perfect and perky as the day they first met. Next to her, Allison feels even sadder and more tired, exhaustion and mourning making her bones heavy and her head fuzzy. All she wants to do is sleep.
“I come bearing gifts.” Lydia’s smile is bright, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she hesitates at the open door, not striding in with her usual confidence.
Guilt stabs through Allison. How many secrets did she keep, even when she railed at her parents for lying to her, for hiding things to protect her? She knows better, and yet still she did the same damn thing.
“Come in,” Allison says and slumps out of the way.
Allison pulls the curtains, blocking out the darkness and the shadows over the moon, while Lydia spreads out her gifts. They have food, both salty and sweet, and a wide array of nail polishes and make-up. She’s so good with her brushes, but it makes sense when Allison thinks about it. She’s also good at chemistry, amazing really, and what is applying make-up but combining chemicals?
They don’t say anything as Allison sits on the bed, then Lydia sighs and gestures to the box of nail polish.
“Pick a color, any color,” she says. Allison starts to pick black, but she hates black nail polish. Instead she settles on a red so dark it’s almost black until the light hits it.
Lydia doesn’t start on the polish right away. Instead she starts going over Allison’s nails with a soft file, buffing them gently. The scrape of it against her nails and skin is strangely pleasant, and a chill races down her spine.
The lamplight chases away any moonlight that sneaks around the edges of the curtains, and Allison lets out a little sigh. Lydia hesitates a moment, her fingers still against Allison’s hand, then continues carefully shaping her nails.
Lydia paints with a steady hand, one stripe down the middle of the nail and one stripe down each side, leaving behind a thin, perfect layer of polish. The smell is sharp, the color not as deep as she hoped, at least not with the first layer, but Lydia isn’t done, and she can be patient.
“So,” Allison says on a sigh, “my ex-boyfriend is a werewolf.”
Lydia nods, hands steady. “Mine is a lizard monster. Think there’s something in the water?”
That gets a bit of a laugh. “Must be.” She shifts her weight, stretching one leg far out to the side, trying not to jostle her hand too much. “Good thing we’re too smart to drink it.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m smart.” Lydia’s fingers clench around Allison’s, but she doesn’t smudge the wet polish. “So smart I brought a werewolf back from the dead.”
That should be a conversation killer, but it’s not. Instead it breaks the tension between them, and Allison feels her shoulders relax.
“My family’d love to make him dead again, I’m sure.” Allison takes a big breath and slumps forward. “Can you believe this is our lives? Packs of werewolves and rogue lizard monsters and things coming back from the dead? My grandfather--” She can’t finish that sentence.
“This really, really sucks,” Lydia says, and keeps painting.
By the time she’s done, Allison’s nails are dark red-black and flecked with silver like a field of stars.
#
Later, in the darkness, stretched out side by side on Allison’s bed, Lydia’s breathing is steady and calm, and Allison can finally say what she’s been meaning to say for awhile.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
Lydia’s voice is clear. “For what?”
“Keeping secrets,” Allison tries, then, “and lying to you.”
“True, that was a shitty thing to do.”
“We just wanted to keep you safe, you know. But not like that.”
“Pretty sure there isn’t safe hanging out with you guys. I’ve been bitten. I know what’s out there. I brought a werewolf back from the dead. Kinda think I’m in the middle of this already.”
“Yeah. I know.”
They’re silent for awhile longer, so long Allison thinks Lydia might have fallen asleep, but then she feels cool, soft fingers on her wrist. “I’m sorry about your mom,” Lydia whispers in the darkness.
“Me too.” Allison’s eyes burn, but even when she blinks, she doesn’t cry.
5.
There’s only a slight huff of air to give her away, but still Allison freezes, one hand on her locker door. She drops the other hand to her side, to the knife hidden at her waist. (Because now she is the girl who wears knives tucked into her belt.) Slender fingers wrap around her wrist, warm and dry and smooth, and a quiet giggle tips into her ear.
“Chemistry,” Erica murmurs. “Such an interesting thing.”
“Don’t touch me.” Allison takes a step to the side. She doesn’t get far before Erica’s pressed against her again, breasts against her back, both hands dropping to curl around her hips. “Let me go before I make you.”
“Little werewolf hunter scared of the big bad wolf.” Erica giggles again and steps even closer, nudging one leg between Allison’s.
“I am not afraid of you.”
Hot breath and then warm lips against the side of her neck. Allison shies away, but Erica is holding her so tight. Allison’s fingers rest against her knife, the leather hilt smooth and comfortable. She doesn’t draw it, though. She leaves it tucked away.
Erica kisses her neck again, this time with a hint of teeth and tongue.
“No biting.” Allison drives her elbow back, catching Erica hard in the ribs. That gets her a grunt and Erica lets go for a moment, body curving in to protect her vulnerable places. Allison steps back into her, bringing their legs together. “No teeth and no claws.”
“No biting,” Erica promises, but she’s laughing at the same time. Then she shoves Allison against her open locker; Allison’s face presses into the shadows, and she squeezes shut her eyes as Erica works one hand up under her skirt.
The hallway is empty and strangely silent, all the good little boys and girls tucked away inside their classrooms. It won’t last, it never does, in just a second someone will come out and find them, and oh, won’t her classmates stare then, poor Allison with her murderous aunt and her suicidal mother-
She cuts that thought off sharp, anger and sadness all twisted up inside.
“What are you waiting for?” She snaps her hips back against Erica. “Get on with it or let me go.”
“So impatient.” Erica teases her fingers along the edge of Allison’s underwear, bikini cut bright blue cotton, both comfortable and cute. Not that she really expects anyone to see it these days, not with Scott all puppy-dog eyes and everyone else keeping their distance. But then there’s Erica, taunting and teasing and tormenting Allison for no reason she can fathom except maybe that she’s become a sexy predatory wolf and now she can.
“Yes,” Allison starts to say, short and simple elongating into a hiss as Erica pushes her hand down inside Allison’s panties and drags three fingers over her clit. “Just like that. Hurry.”
Erica hooks a thumb, spreading Allison open and spreading her wetness until her fingers slip over her clit with ease. Allison squeezes her knife with one hand, and grabs Erica’s wrist with the other, forcing her to move in tight little circles right where she wants her.
It’s just enough, the speed and that perfect pressure and the thrill of maybe getting caught. Allison bucks her hips forward and back, thrusting into Erica’s touch and then grinding back against her, and keens.
“Such a big mouth you have.” Erica slaps her palm over Allison’s lips, muffling the noises she makes as she comes and comes. In the stillness of the hallway, she can hear the slightly obscene sound of fingers moving against wet skin.
“Mmph,” Allison says, then twists her head sharply away from Erica, freeing her mouth. “You have got to stop the little red riding hood jokes.”
Tongue and teeth again to the side of her throat. “What a big tongue I have, and maybe next time I’ll get to use it.” For a moment, Allison is struck by the thought of Erica on her knees, arms positioned just so to hold Allison’s skirt out of the way, and it makes her shiver.
There’s movement, and though Allison doesn’t turn to look, she can guess that Erica licks her fingers clean.
“Have I got a question for you,” Erica sing-songs. “Alli-Alli Argent, hunts with silver and with bow. Who are you punishing exactly? Me? You?” Her voice goes serious. “Or Scott?”
Scott. Allison isn’t punishing anyone, but hearing his name makes her sad.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Erica swats Allison’s butt lightly, and her boots tap as she dances back out of the way. “I’m not ready for our little game to end.”
Allison tips her head against the locker next to hers, the metal cool against her skin.
6.
The headstone stands out from all the others, bright white marble, shiny and new. She skirts around the edge of the grave, careful not to step on the place her mother is buried. (It’s an old superstition, and silly after everything she knows now, but she can’t shake it.)
The sun is setting, but there’s still more than enough light to see. She traces the edge of the marble, staring at the letters and numbers, carving all that’s left of her mother into stone, her name, the day she was born, the day she died, and this, words for her: ad astra per aspera.
“I wish you could understand,” she says. “I love you, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry what happened to you, but I can’t.” Her voice catches in her throat. “I can’t hunt them, not the way you did. Your code, it fails again and again. And the ones I know - they need me.”
It’s not quite silence that answers her. She can hear leaves moving in the wind, cars in the distance, her own breath slightly too fast.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, and leans against the stone.
7.
Lydia’s waiting for her at the cemetery gate, and together they head over to Scott’s. His mom answers the door and though she looks tired, she smiles at them. In the background, Allison can hear the others.
“I’m glad to see you, honey. Come here.” Ms. McCall says, and opens her arms. Allison hesitates, then steps into the hug, her arms tight around Ms. McCall’s waist. She gives good hugs, warm and strong, and something loosens deep in Allison’s chest.
Lydia pats her shoulder as she passes, and heads into the house.
Finally, Allison steps back. “So,” she says, and sniffs a little, but she’s not going to cry. “What’s going on? Scott’s message was a little - garbled.”
“Completely unclear? He gets all worked up, doesn’t he?” This time, her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “For good reason this time, maybe.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s another pack coming.” Derek’s standing in the middle of the living room, everyone else - the werewolf pack, and Lydia, and Scott - spread around him.
“What do they want?”
He scowls at her, or maybe he just scowls, he looks like that a lot. “What all alphas want,” he says, and if he’s including himself in that, so be it. “Power.”
She flexes her hand, wishing for the bow in the backseat of her car, but he’s no threat to her. If this new pack is, well, she has Lydia’s genius and Scott and she’ll make her stand here, this mixed human and wolf pack.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/356199.html with
comments. Reply here or there.