Fic: doubled up inside
Title: doubled up inside
Summary: Elizabeth can't handle it anymore.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 948
Rating/Contents: NC-17, resistance play, spanking
Pairing: Caldwell/Weir
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: This came out of a combination of red wine and sitting around with
shadowen. I regret nothing.
By the time she makes it to Steven's quarters, Elizabeth is exhausted and twitchy. There's something that's got a hold on her, something that's been building through one crisis after another, something burning underneath her skin. She's barely had time to sit down today, much less had any time to deal with whatever the hell is bothering her so damn much.
She lets herself in, waving her hand over the door panel to shut it behind her. Steven is sitting at his desk, going over some kind of paperwork that she doesn't recognize. He looks up at her briefly before going back to his papers. "Kneel," he says, not really paying attention. He has every right to; here, in this room, she's his. It's just that she's never resented him for it until now.
"No," she says tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
He looks up at her, cocking an eyebrow. "You've got ten seconds to explain yourself."
"Maybe I don't want to explain myself," she tells him, aware that her voice is rising without permission. "Maybe I've had enough today without dealing with your demands on top of it."
"Calm down," he says firmly, standing up from his chair.
"Why don't you come over here and make me?" Elizabeth snaps.
Steven stills for a moment, just looking at her. "Is that what you want?" he asks, and he sounds tense, like he's anticipating something.
"That's what it's going to take," she fires back, and she didn't know how much she meant those words until they left her mouth.
He nods once, and then he's advancing on her. He moves fast, but she's smaller; he's nearly got her pinned down, but she slips out from under his arms. He recovers, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her towards him. She tries to struggle away, but she isn't fighting nearly hard enough to dislodge him.
"Let me go," she protests as he pushes her onto the bed, face down. She slaps blindly at him; one of her flailing hands connects, so he grabs both her wrists and holds them behind her back.
"Are you ready to behave?" he says condescendingly. He leans down, whispering into her ear. "Or am I going to have to fuck some sense into you?"
She realizes suddenly that this is really working for her. "Go fuck yourself," she snarls, a little shocked at her own language.
"Wrong answer," he says, taking both her wrists in one hand so that he can pull her pants and underwear down with the other, far enough down her legs that he can get in between them. She hears the sound of his zipper, and then just like that he's pushing inside of her. She bites her lip too late to stop from groaning, which only makes him pull back and slam into her, hard enough that she's pressed into the bed.
"You bastard," she grits out, as he thrusts into her over and over again. She's almost alarmed by how much this is turning her on, fighting back against him like this, making him work for it. It's unlocking some weird tension inside of her, just having something to struggle against, something to overcome.
"Stop acting like you don't like it," he says, lacing his hand into her hair and pulling. "You'll let me do anything to you, so why don't you just admit it?"
"Go to hell," she says, trying to worm out of his grasp; he only pulls harder at her hair, making tears spring up in the corners of her eyes. He lets her go all of a sudden and smacks her solidly across her thigh, making her gasp in pain and surprise. He does it again and again, until her skin is hot and pink, until she's pushing back against him, begging for more even while she's cursing him up and down.
"Don't you dare come," he warns her, his voice strained, the pace of his thrusts increasing. "You do, and you'll be lucky if you get off any time this month."
"Who's going to stop me?" she challenges.
"Me," he replies, holding her down and driving into her hard. It doesn't take long before he's coming, his fingers digging into her skin, keeping her firmly in her place.
He lets her up, finally, panting heavily. "Still in the mood to argue?" he asks.
She doesn't move or respond at first, taking stock and seriously considering her answer; at last, she shakes her head.
"Good," he responds, stepping back from her and zipping up his pants. "Stand up and strip."
She pulls off her clothing, folding it and placing it on the bed. She's just standing there, waiting for it, waiting for the inevitable punishment for her behavior.
Instead, he steps forward and takes her into his arms, holding her tightly. He strokes his hands down her back, soothing her. She didn't even know how much she needed it; she melts against him, pulling him as close as she can.
After a long moment, he pulls back to look at her, brushing the tears off of her face. "Was that what you needed?" She nods. "Are you going to tell me that you're upset next time, instead of acting like a brat?" She thinks about it, then shakes her head. "We'll work on it," he tells her, hugging her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/284046.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Elizabeth can't handle it anymore.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 948
Rating/Contents: NC-17, resistance play, spanking
Pairing: Caldwell/Weir
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: This came out of a combination of red wine and sitting around with
shadowen. I regret nothing.
By the time she makes it to Steven's quarters, Elizabeth is exhausted and twitchy. There's something that's got a hold on her, something that's been building through one crisis after another, something burning underneath her skin. She's barely had time to sit down today, much less had any time to deal with whatever the hell is bothering her so damn much.
She lets herself in, waving her hand over the door panel to shut it behind her. Steven is sitting at his desk, going over some kind of paperwork that she doesn't recognize. He looks up at her briefly before going back to his papers. "Kneel," he says, not really paying attention. He has every right to; here, in this room, she's his. It's just that she's never resented him for it until now.
"No," she says tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
He looks up at her, cocking an eyebrow. "You've got ten seconds to explain yourself."
"Maybe I don't want to explain myself," she tells him, aware that her voice is rising without permission. "Maybe I've had enough today without dealing with your demands on top of it."
"Calm down," he says firmly, standing up from his chair.
"Why don't you come over here and make me?" Elizabeth snaps.
Steven stills for a moment, just looking at her. "Is that what you want?" he asks, and he sounds tense, like he's anticipating something.
"That's what it's going to take," she fires back, and she didn't know how much she meant those words until they left her mouth.
He nods once, and then he's advancing on her. He moves fast, but she's smaller; he's nearly got her pinned down, but she slips out from under his arms. He recovers, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her towards him. She tries to struggle away, but she isn't fighting nearly hard enough to dislodge him.
"Let me go," she protests as he pushes her onto the bed, face down. She slaps blindly at him; one of her flailing hands connects, so he grabs both her wrists and holds them behind her back.
"Are you ready to behave?" he says condescendingly. He leans down, whispering into her ear. "Or am I going to have to fuck some sense into you?"
She realizes suddenly that this is really working for her. "Go fuck yourself," she snarls, a little shocked at her own language.
"Wrong answer," he says, taking both her wrists in one hand so that he can pull her pants and underwear down with the other, far enough down her legs that he can get in between them. She hears the sound of his zipper, and then just like that he's pushing inside of her. She bites her lip too late to stop from groaning, which only makes him pull back and slam into her, hard enough that she's pressed into the bed.
"You bastard," she grits out, as he thrusts into her over and over again. She's almost alarmed by how much this is turning her on, fighting back against him like this, making him work for it. It's unlocking some weird tension inside of her, just having something to struggle against, something to overcome.
"Stop acting like you don't like it," he says, lacing his hand into her hair and pulling. "You'll let me do anything to you, so why don't you just admit it?"
"Go to hell," she says, trying to worm out of his grasp; he only pulls harder at her hair, making tears spring up in the corners of her eyes. He lets her go all of a sudden and smacks her solidly across her thigh, making her gasp in pain and surprise. He does it again and again, until her skin is hot and pink, until she's pushing back against him, begging for more even while she's cursing him up and down.
"Don't you dare come," he warns her, his voice strained, the pace of his thrusts increasing. "You do, and you'll be lucky if you get off any time this month."
"Who's going to stop me?" she challenges.
"Me," he replies, holding her down and driving into her hard. It doesn't take long before he's coming, his fingers digging into her skin, keeping her firmly in her place.
He lets her up, finally, panting heavily. "Still in the mood to argue?" he asks.
She doesn't move or respond at first, taking stock and seriously considering her answer; at last, she shakes her head.
"Good," he responds, stepping back from her and zipping up his pants. "Stand up and strip."
She pulls off her clothing, folding it and placing it on the bed. She's just standing there, waiting for it, waiting for the inevitable punishment for her behavior.
Instead, he steps forward and takes her into his arms, holding her tightly. He strokes his hands down her back, soothing her. She didn't even know how much she needed it; she melts against him, pulling him as close as she can.
After a long moment, he pulls back to look at her, brushing the tears off of her face. "Was that what you needed?" She nods. "Are you going to tell me that you're upset next time, instead of acting like a brat?" She thinks about it, then shakes her head. "We'll work on it," he tells her, hugging her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/284046.html.
comments over there.