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Title: Maybe We
Fandom: Misfits
Author:![[info]](https://redbrunja.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88.3)
redbrunja
Rating: R
Characters: Simon/Alisha
Summary: Simon practices.
There was no way to discreetly return to the flat. The lift groaned and clanked like Marley's ghost and Simon had yet to figure out how to prevent the lights from coming on as soon as the lift door opened.
Which mean that he was apologizing even before he'd stepped in, Alisha half-recumbent on their bed, resting on her elbows, hair tousled.
"It's not–" she started and then her eyes widened as she got a good look at his face. Even with his new powers, he was still rubbish at parkour. His face - forehead scraped, bottom lip split open, blood dripping down his chin– had looked bad in the dim reflection of dark store windows. He could only imagine how ugly it looked in the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Fuck," she breathed, padding over to him on bare feet.
"I fell down," he replied, not realizing how pathetic those words would sound until they were out of his mouth. The twist of self-loathing that followed was completely familiar.
Alisha reached up, tilted his chin towards her. Simon didn't think she realized the slight smile that came across her lips at the contact; he knew she was still practically drunk with the removal of her old power. And he - he was still getting used to this, used to Alisha caring, used to being able to look at her. He rested on hand on her hip, carefully, (maybe she wasn't the only one who found touch new) and she willingly took a step closer, toes almost touching his. She was wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt and a bra that was striped like a candy cane. She swiped at the tacky blood on his face with her sleeve. "Not completely terrible," she said, and then kissed him, right on his split lip. The pain was sharp, immediate, and contrasted beautifully with the softness of her mouth. His hand fisted in the fabric of her sweatshirt, rucking it up enough for him to see that she wasn't wearing any knickers.
Alisha laughed at the look on his face, proud and playful and not mean-spirited at all.
"Can I–" he started and she crashed their lips together in a hard kiss. Simon felt a rush of foreign confidence burbling in his belly and he put a hand between Alisha's thighs. Her skin felt scorching hot against his fingers, which must have been freezing for her. He almost jerked back, only she was opening her legs wider, grapping his shoulders and curling one leg around his hip as he touched like she's shown him, circling her clit until she was gasping his name. He kissed her as she spoke, yes, like that, Simon, oh, fuck me, yes, drunk on the words and Alisha's toothpaste and for one dizzying moment, he wasn't a dim second best.
Fandom: Misfits
Author:
redbrunjaRating: R
Characters: Simon/Alisha
Summary: Simon practices.
There was no way to discreetly return to the flat. The lift groaned and clanked like Marley's ghost and Simon had yet to figure out how to prevent the lights from coming on as soon as the lift door opened.
Which mean that he was apologizing even before he'd stepped in, Alisha half-recumbent on their bed, resting on her elbows, hair tousled.
"It's not–" she started and then her eyes widened as she got a good look at his face. Even with his new powers, he was still rubbish at parkour. His face - forehead scraped, bottom lip split open, blood dripping down his chin– had looked bad in the dim reflection of dark store windows. He could only imagine how ugly it looked in the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Fuck," she breathed, padding over to him on bare feet.
"I fell down," he replied, not realizing how pathetic those words would sound until they were out of his mouth. The twist of self-loathing that followed was completely familiar.
Alisha reached up, tilted his chin towards her. Simon didn't think she realized the slight smile that came across her lips at the contact; he knew she was still practically drunk with the removal of her old power. And he - he was still getting used to this, used to Alisha caring, used to being able to look at her. He rested on hand on her hip, carefully, (maybe she wasn't the only one who found touch new) and she willingly took a step closer, toes almost touching his. She was wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt and a bra that was striped like a candy cane. She swiped at the tacky blood on his face with her sleeve. "Not completely terrible," she said, and then kissed him, right on his split lip. The pain was sharp, immediate, and contrasted beautifully with the softness of her mouth. His hand fisted in the fabric of her sweatshirt, rucking it up enough for him to see that she wasn't wearing any knickers.
Alisha laughed at the look on his face, proud and playful and not mean-spirited at all.
"Can I–" he started and she crashed their lips together in a hard kiss. Simon felt a rush of foreign confidence burbling in his belly and he put a hand between Alisha's thighs. Her skin felt scorching hot against his fingers, which must have been freezing for her. He almost jerked back, only she was opening her legs wider, grapping his shoulders and curling one leg around his hip as he touched like she's shown him, circling her clit until she was gasping his name. He kissed her as she spoke, yes, like that, Simon, oh, fuck me, yes, drunk on the words and Alisha's toothpaste and for one dizzying moment, he wasn't a dim second best.
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no subject
To be honest, my feelings on it are deeply, deeply mixed.