V Fic: In Times of War
Jan. 5th, 2011 04:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseTitle: In times of war
Fandom: V (2009)
Pairing/Characters: Erica/Hobbes
Rating: 15
Word Count: 1359
Prompt: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_tales prompt #061 hatred and the darkship prompt meme prompt "it's just skin"
Summary: She'd have him, but she'd make sure he knew that it was only anger and frustration that drove her to his bed, not love. Erica finds herself confused and surprisingly vulnerable and lashes out at the man who she both desires and despises.
Warnings: None
No-one knew she was sleeping with Hobbes and that was important. Tyler must never know – he already thought she'd cheated on his father. Ryan might not care but she preferred he didn't know, that he didn't wonder if she was playing favourites within the group when she took Hobbes's side in a debate. And Jack – she didn't think she could bear for him to know; would he be disappointed, seemingly harbouring some forbidden feelings for her himself? Might he, like Ryan, question if her decisions were being made emotionally rather than rationally? Or maybe he'd think she was making a mistake – and he would be right.
So while they'd never discussed it openly, it was an unspoken rule that their occasional sexual acts were never mentioned to anyone else. Maybe Hobbes liked it better that way, too. He was a loner, and valued his privacy, and while it might assert his masculinity to be sleeping with the de facto leader of the group, he probably preferred to keep everyone guessing about his motives and alliances.
It had been another long day and no amount of showering would soothe Erica. Two fingers of Scotch did nothing but remind her of Hobbes – the first time they'd had sex they'd been drinking whiskey and she had tasted it when he kissed her roughly, his tongue seeking hers.
It hadn't even been three days since the last time she'd given in to her carnal desires and sought out Hobbes, and she'd wanted to keep her lapses in judgement down to once a week or less. So, sitting on her bed, she pulled open her robe and sought her own release. But a few minutes later, she was lying back on her pillow, disappointed as the warm afterglow dissipated all too quickly. It wasn't just the release she wanted, she knew. She wanted him.
Erica pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, not even bothering with underwear. That her jeans rubbed at her exposed crotch merely further angered and aroused her. She threw on her leather jacket and picked up her keys. Damn him. She'd make him pay for kindling such desire in her. She'd have him, but she'd make sure he knew that it was only anger and frustration that drove her to his bed, not love. Never love.
She drove at exactly the speed limit the whole way to the safehouse, mind racing as she tried to sort out her feelings – and failing.
Erica had seen many terrible things during her working life but knowing how the Visitors were manipulating them engendered a hatred she'd never known before. And but for the V's, she'd never have met Hobbes – who'd done his own share of terrible things – and so the hatred spilt over into her relationship with him.
"Don't you ever sleep?" she snapped when she came down the stairs into the basement.
Hobbes, sitting on the bed, shrugged. "Not when there's chance of a booty call."
She'd entered the code to safely disarm the security protocols but an alert always showed up on these monitors. He'd probably had more than enough time to throw on his omnipresent black t-shirt – though the skin tight jeans must have taken more doing.
"Who says I'm here to satisfy you?"
He gave her one of his knowing smiles. "If it were something urgent you'd have called first."
He was so damn annoying when he was right. Erica let the pretence go. She stalked over to him and stripped her t-shirt off in one smooth movement, tossing it to the floor behind her. His eyes widened at her nakedness.
"In a hurry, were you?"
She narrowed her eyes, somehow stilled her hand from slapping him. Voice tight with anger, she said, "Do you want to do this or not?"
In a matter of minutes they were both completely naked. Erica was determined to be in charge and shoved him to the bed first, climbing astride him. She held him down, hands on his shoulders, but he could easily still reach around her, and his hands found her waist.
She'd make him wait for his pleasure, she vowed. She kissed him roughly, teeth catching at his lower lip. She leaned on his shoulders with all of her weight, her fingers digging into his flesh. Her mouth sought his neck, teasing him with a flick of her tongue before nipping at his skin. Her hands moved of their own accord, trailing across his arms, his chest.
He was the enemy, just as the Visitors were, damn them, damn them for what they were doing to her world, to her relationship with her son; she couldn't lose him, not when she'd lost already Joe, couldn't bear the thought of seeing the distrust and disgust in Tyler's eyes that she'd witnessed in Joe's. It wasn't fair. She'd done nothing wrong, and she was always the one being punished, being hurt. Damn them. Damn them. Damn them all.
"Erica?" Was that fear in his voice? She was instantly on alert but was having problems seeing, let alone reacting. She blinked hard to clear her eyes so she could see what could possibly have spooked Hobbes. It took several attempts to clear her vision of the tears and it was only then she realised she was crying.
Humiliation welled up within her and made her tears flow even more. He was the last member of the Fifth Column she wanted to see her weak like this.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly. She swallowed hard, trying to think of any words that were appropriate, her throat so tight and raw that she'd have problems saying them anyway.
She blinked once more and tried to focus. That was when she saw the marks she'd inflicted on him. Mere scratches in some places, but in others she'd actually drawn blood. There was the start of a bruise on one shoulder and an unmistakable bite mark on his neck.
"Oh, God," she said. "I never meant to…"
"Erica?"
She leant over and pressed her lips to the bruise. "I'm sorry," she said desperately. "This isn't who I am. I didn't mean to hurt you -" She wasn't sure if it was wholly true, but the regret and shame were too overpowering for her to do anything but apologise.
Hobbes had one hand in her hair, stroking her loose tresses gently. "Don't worry," he said, almost as desperately. "It's just skin. It'll heal."
"I'm sorry. I just…the whole world's going to hell…"
He clutched her tightly as if his embrace might make the world right. "Sssh," he said softly. "It's all right. It'll be all right."
She shifted position, wanting to lie alongside him. When this was accomplished she relaxed fully, pillowing her head down on his unbruised shoulder. He'd shifted his grip while she fidgeted, but had never let go of her.
"I suppose you've been in worse situations," she said, teasing him. It was a game they played. No matter how terrible things were, Hobbes always declared he'd survived worse, and therefore they could get through this too.
"Absolutely."
She managed a laugh at that and he squeezed her a little tighter, turned his head to touch his lips to her forehead.
"I need a minute," she said. "Before we can finish what I started."
"Don't worry. You can make it up to me later," Hobbes said. "You're in no state to make it enjoyable and the mood's gone anyway. Get some sleep."
"Here?" Did he really mean it, she wondered. They'd had sex on many occasions, but she'd never spent the night.
"It seems a waste of time you getting dressed and going home, then undressing again, and trying to sleep in your own bed," he said. "Besides, you tried that already, didn't you? Just let's get under the covers, eh?"
Once they were cuddled up under the blankets she wondered why she'd been so reluctant. In times of war, enemies could become allies, even friends – maybe more. Safe in the knowledge that the safehouse was secure, and feeling secure in Hobbes's embrace, Erica let herself relax and, for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.
Fandom: V (2009)
Pairing/Characters: Erica/Hobbes
Rating: 15
Word Count: 1359
Prompt: For the
100_tales prompt #061 hatred and the darkship prompt meme prompt "it's just skin"Summary: She'd have him, but she'd make sure he knew that it was only anger and frustration that drove her to his bed, not love. Erica finds herself confused and surprisingly vulnerable and lashes out at the man who she both desires and despises.
Warnings: None
No-one knew she was sleeping with Hobbes and that was important. Tyler must never know – he already thought she'd cheated on his father. Ryan might not care but she preferred he didn't know, that he didn't wonder if she was playing favourites within the group when she took Hobbes's side in a debate. And Jack – she didn't think she could bear for him to know; would he be disappointed, seemingly harbouring some forbidden feelings for her himself? Might he, like Ryan, question if her decisions were being made emotionally rather than rationally? Or maybe he'd think she was making a mistake – and he would be right.
So while they'd never discussed it openly, it was an unspoken rule that their occasional sexual acts were never mentioned to anyone else. Maybe Hobbes liked it better that way, too. He was a loner, and valued his privacy, and while it might assert his masculinity to be sleeping with the de facto leader of the group, he probably preferred to keep everyone guessing about his motives and alliances.
It had been another long day and no amount of showering would soothe Erica. Two fingers of Scotch did nothing but remind her of Hobbes – the first time they'd had sex they'd been drinking whiskey and she had tasted it when he kissed her roughly, his tongue seeking hers.
It hadn't even been three days since the last time she'd given in to her carnal desires and sought out Hobbes, and she'd wanted to keep her lapses in judgement down to once a week or less. So, sitting on her bed, she pulled open her robe and sought her own release. But a few minutes later, she was lying back on her pillow, disappointed as the warm afterglow dissipated all too quickly. It wasn't just the release she wanted, she knew. She wanted him.
Erica pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, not even bothering with underwear. That her jeans rubbed at her exposed crotch merely further angered and aroused her. She threw on her leather jacket and picked up her keys. Damn him. She'd make him pay for kindling such desire in her. She'd have him, but she'd make sure he knew that it was only anger and frustration that drove her to his bed, not love. Never love.
She drove at exactly the speed limit the whole way to the safehouse, mind racing as she tried to sort out her feelings – and failing.
Erica had seen many terrible things during her working life but knowing how the Visitors were manipulating them engendered a hatred she'd never known before. And but for the V's, she'd never have met Hobbes – who'd done his own share of terrible things – and so the hatred spilt over into her relationship with him.
"Don't you ever sleep?" she snapped when she came down the stairs into the basement.
Hobbes, sitting on the bed, shrugged. "Not when there's chance of a booty call."
She'd entered the code to safely disarm the security protocols but an alert always showed up on these monitors. He'd probably had more than enough time to throw on his omnipresent black t-shirt – though the skin tight jeans must have taken more doing.
"Who says I'm here to satisfy you?"
He gave her one of his knowing smiles. "If it were something urgent you'd have called first."
He was so damn annoying when he was right. Erica let the pretence go. She stalked over to him and stripped her t-shirt off in one smooth movement, tossing it to the floor behind her. His eyes widened at her nakedness.
"In a hurry, were you?"
She narrowed her eyes, somehow stilled her hand from slapping him. Voice tight with anger, she said, "Do you want to do this or not?"
In a matter of minutes they were both completely naked. Erica was determined to be in charge and shoved him to the bed first, climbing astride him. She held him down, hands on his shoulders, but he could easily still reach around her, and his hands found her waist.
She'd make him wait for his pleasure, she vowed. She kissed him roughly, teeth catching at his lower lip. She leaned on his shoulders with all of her weight, her fingers digging into his flesh. Her mouth sought his neck, teasing him with a flick of her tongue before nipping at his skin. Her hands moved of their own accord, trailing across his arms, his chest.
He was the enemy, just as the Visitors were, damn them, damn them for what they were doing to her world, to her relationship with her son; she couldn't lose him, not when she'd lost already Joe, couldn't bear the thought of seeing the distrust and disgust in Tyler's eyes that she'd witnessed in Joe's. It wasn't fair. She'd done nothing wrong, and she was always the one being punished, being hurt. Damn them. Damn them. Damn them all.
"Erica?" Was that fear in his voice? She was instantly on alert but was having problems seeing, let alone reacting. She blinked hard to clear her eyes so she could see what could possibly have spooked Hobbes. It took several attempts to clear her vision of the tears and it was only then she realised she was crying.
Humiliation welled up within her and made her tears flow even more. He was the last member of the Fifth Column she wanted to see her weak like this.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly. She swallowed hard, trying to think of any words that were appropriate, her throat so tight and raw that she'd have problems saying them anyway.
She blinked once more and tried to focus. That was when she saw the marks she'd inflicted on him. Mere scratches in some places, but in others she'd actually drawn blood. There was the start of a bruise on one shoulder and an unmistakable bite mark on his neck.
"Oh, God," she said. "I never meant to…"
"Erica?"
She leant over and pressed her lips to the bruise. "I'm sorry," she said desperately. "This isn't who I am. I didn't mean to hurt you -" She wasn't sure if it was wholly true, but the regret and shame were too overpowering for her to do anything but apologise.
Hobbes had one hand in her hair, stroking her loose tresses gently. "Don't worry," he said, almost as desperately. "It's just skin. It'll heal."
"I'm sorry. I just…the whole world's going to hell…"
He clutched her tightly as if his embrace might make the world right. "Sssh," he said softly. "It's all right. It'll be all right."
She shifted position, wanting to lie alongside him. When this was accomplished she relaxed fully, pillowing her head down on his unbruised shoulder. He'd shifted his grip while she fidgeted, but had never let go of her.
"I suppose you've been in worse situations," she said, teasing him. It was a game they played. No matter how terrible things were, Hobbes always declared he'd survived worse, and therefore they could get through this too.
"Absolutely."
She managed a laugh at that and he squeezed her a little tighter, turned his head to touch his lips to her forehead.
"I need a minute," she said. "Before we can finish what I started."
"Don't worry. You can make it up to me later," Hobbes said. "You're in no state to make it enjoyable and the mood's gone anyway. Get some sleep."
"Here?" Did he really mean it, she wondered. They'd had sex on many occasions, but she'd never spent the night.
"It seems a waste of time you getting dressed and going home, then undressing again, and trying to sleep in your own bed," he said. "Besides, you tried that already, didn't you? Just let's get under the covers, eh?"
Once they were cuddled up under the blankets she wondered why she'd been so reluctant. In times of war, enemies could become allies, even friends – maybe more. Safe in the knowledge that the safehouse was secure, and feeling secure in Hobbes's embrace, Erica let herself relax and, for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.
