[fic: lost girl]
cock of the walk
lost girl. kenzi x hale. pwp. boredom falls somewhere between From Justin to Kelly and that one fae that could control blood pathogens. ~900 | nc17
for the porn battle
Kenzi decided that boredom was the worst of all the bad things-in an extremely first-world setting. It wasn’t bad as, say, cancer or violent mutilation but on the Patent Kenzi Scale of Awful Things she rated it between From Justin to Kelly and that one fae that could control blood pathogens.
Pre-boredom, she was scrolling through Youtube looking at two-minute long videos of adorable animals doing adorable things while Hale lamented on the propelling downward spiral that was his life (without saying, it went that Kenzi’s life was in a similar way; sidekicks, after all, reflected on another) and post-boredom she was firmly planted in Hale’s lap with her hands somewhere between chiseled man-chest and uncharted territory.
“Oh,” she said, and pulled away abruptly. “Wait. Stop.”
Hale sent her a look as if to say are you freaking kidding? and then his fingers managed to worm through all the belts and loops clasps of her jeans and blunt, thick fingers were touching her and damn was she already that wet?
“This is bad,” Kenzi said, going in for another kiss. “I mean. Like. Halle Berry in a catsuit bad.”
Hale had, by this point had managed to work her shirt loose enough to bury his face in the woefully small valley between her breasts. “Nothing is that bad. Nothing.”
“This could be pretty bad,” Kenzi said. “This sort of thing messes with our mojo, you know?”
“I thought it got the mojo going?”
She rapped him on the shoulder with her knuckles. He tossed his head back and that hat she may or may not sort of maybe kind of had a thing for went flying off. “I mean. You know how friendship and sex mixes? Like water and vinegar. Bad news bears, dude.”
“I actually think this is a swell idea,” Hale said, and the pun was definitely intended between the idea was certainly not the only thing currently swelling, and set about proving it too her.
Well, Kenzi had always subscripted to the notion in for a penny in for a pound and that saddled right up to the part where they were fumbling to get his jeans down to his ankles. She cupped him, warm and big, and he groaned.
“Wait,” Kenzi said. “You aren’t working some fae mumbo-jumbo on me, are you? Because that? Not cool.”
He looked insulted.
“Okay. Just checking.” And she kissed him as way of apologizing. Paragon of humility, Kenzi was. “But just to warn you, I generally don’t get off by-direct penetration, let’s say. But that’s what the vibrator’s for. Just don’t get all huffy if-”
It hadn’t meant to be a challenge, honest, but of freaking course Hale took it as such and she choked on her words as he thrust up into her without a single second of warning. Rude. She slumped forward, clawing at his shoulders, and he placed one wide hand at the small of her back, guiding her on top of him.
And who is making those high-pitching whines? Kenzi wondered and then Hale reached down pinched and plucked at her clit. Oh me, she realized.
“Oh yeah,” Hale murmured, sounding drunk. Sounding drunk but still really smug. “You like that, little mama?”
“Could you please?” she coaxed, bringing herself roughly down on top of him. “Not talk?”
“What?” He punctuated his sentence with a thrust that had her bowing backwards. “I like talking. Don’t you?”
“No,” she snapped. She grinded down on top of him, and was rewarded with his gasp. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Ah,” Hale said. “And there’s your problem.” And then he brought her closer, thumb pressing down on her clit, while his big, wet mouth closed over a breast. Kenzi dug her nails into the back of his scalp, panting.
“Let me tell you,” he said, “you got those breasts-they’re small, right? But so bouncy. And your legs, little mama. I could write sonnets about your legs, all wrapped around me, squeezing. Ah, there you go. Keep going.”
And it was his fingers moving so skillfully over her body and his voice, and the way he was talking to her about her, and maybe a little splash of siren power and Kenzi was coming all undone around him, in ways she hadn’t in a long while, clamping down on him. And Hale was humming a sound of approval and pleasure and he pumped up into her a few more times, holding her still, and came with a jerking grunt a bit later.
Feeling like she’d run a marathon and won, Kenzi fell backward, cushioning her fall on the arm of the couch. She blinked owlishly up at the dingy ceiling of the apartment she shared with an overly moody succubus while a siren kicked off his pants to lounge naked and happy not a foot from her and thought-shit. Yes. Halle Berry in a catsuit level bad.
Then Hale came up over to her, his face split into a wide shit-eating grin and Kenzi would have loved to wipe it right off his stupid, handsome face except, of course, he had every right to crow.
“You definitely came, little mama,” he accused.
Kenzi’s answer was to bury her head in her hands and groan.
She was never living this down.
lost girl. kenzi x hale. pwp. boredom falls somewhere between From Justin to Kelly and that one fae that could control blood pathogens. ~900 | nc17
for the porn battle
Kenzi decided that boredom was the worst of all the bad things-in an extremely first-world setting. It wasn’t bad as, say, cancer or violent mutilation but on the Patent Kenzi Scale of Awful Things she rated it between From Justin to Kelly and that one fae that could control blood pathogens.
Pre-boredom, she was scrolling through Youtube looking at two-minute long videos of adorable animals doing adorable things while Hale lamented on the propelling downward spiral that was his life (without saying, it went that Kenzi’s life was in a similar way; sidekicks, after all, reflected on another) and post-boredom she was firmly planted in Hale’s lap with her hands somewhere between chiseled man-chest and uncharted territory.
“Oh,” she said, and pulled away abruptly. “Wait. Stop.”
Hale sent her a look as if to say are you freaking kidding? and then his fingers managed to worm through all the belts and loops clasps of her jeans and blunt, thick fingers were touching her and damn was she already that wet?
“This is bad,” Kenzi said, going in for another kiss. “I mean. Like. Halle Berry in a catsuit bad.”
Hale had, by this point had managed to work her shirt loose enough to bury his face in the woefully small valley between her breasts. “Nothing is that bad. Nothing.”
“This could be pretty bad,” Kenzi said. “This sort of thing messes with our mojo, you know?”
“I thought it got the mojo going?”
She rapped him on the shoulder with her knuckles. He tossed his head back and that hat she may or may not sort of maybe kind of had a thing for went flying off. “I mean. You know how friendship and sex mixes? Like water and vinegar. Bad news bears, dude.”
“I actually think this is a swell idea,” Hale said, and the pun was definitely intended between the idea was certainly not the only thing currently swelling, and set about proving it too her.
Well, Kenzi had always subscripted to the notion in for a penny in for a pound and that saddled right up to the part where they were fumbling to get his jeans down to his ankles. She cupped him, warm and big, and he groaned.
“Wait,” Kenzi said. “You aren’t working some fae mumbo-jumbo on me, are you? Because that? Not cool.”
He looked insulted.
“Okay. Just checking.” And she kissed him as way of apologizing. Paragon of humility, Kenzi was. “But just to warn you, I generally don’t get off by-direct penetration, let’s say. But that’s what the vibrator’s for. Just don’t get all huffy if-”
It hadn’t meant to be a challenge, honest, but of freaking course Hale took it as such and she choked on her words as he thrust up into her without a single second of warning. Rude. She slumped forward, clawing at his shoulders, and he placed one wide hand at the small of her back, guiding her on top of him.
And who is making those high-pitching whines? Kenzi wondered and then Hale reached down pinched and plucked at her clit. Oh me, she realized.
“Oh yeah,” Hale murmured, sounding drunk. Sounding drunk but still really smug. “You like that, little mama?”
“Could you please?” she coaxed, bringing herself roughly down on top of him. “Not talk?”
“What?” He punctuated his sentence with a thrust that had her bowing backwards. “I like talking. Don’t you?”
“No,” she snapped. She grinded down on top of him, and was rewarded with his gasp. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Ah,” Hale said. “And there’s your problem.” And then he brought her closer, thumb pressing down on her clit, while his big, wet mouth closed over a breast. Kenzi dug her nails into the back of his scalp, panting.
“Let me tell you,” he said, “you got those breasts-they’re small, right? But so bouncy. And your legs, little mama. I could write sonnets about your legs, all wrapped around me, squeezing. Ah, there you go. Keep going.”
And it was his fingers moving so skillfully over her body and his voice, and the way he was talking to her about her, and maybe a little splash of siren power and Kenzi was coming all undone around him, in ways she hadn’t in a long while, clamping down on him. And Hale was humming a sound of approval and pleasure and he pumped up into her a few more times, holding her still, and came with a jerking grunt a bit later.
Feeling like she’d run a marathon and won, Kenzi fell backward, cushioning her fall on the arm of the couch. She blinked owlishly up at the dingy ceiling of the apartment she shared with an overly moody succubus while a siren kicked off his pants to lounge naked and happy not a foot from her and thought-shit. Yes. Halle Berry in a catsuit level bad.
Then Hale came up over to her, his face split into a wide shit-eating grin and Kenzi would have loved to wipe it right off his stupid, handsome face except, of course, he had every right to crow.
“You definitely came, little mama,” he accused.
Kenzi’s answer was to bury her head in her hands and groan.
She was never living this down.