Fic: Dust, Blood, Water
Sep. 17th, 2013 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Dust, Blood, Water
Series: TF2
Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1920
Author's note: kink_bingo: washing/cleaning. Inspired by this. Established relationship. For and betaed by Multiversecafe.
She wiped her hands on her skirt, only to leave more smears of blood. The last gunshot still rang in her ears. This was far too clumsy a killing for how many times she'd buried her coworkers. Putting the shovel over her shoulder, she loaded up her things. The quicklime would do the rest of the work. Now just to get changed, and finish the rest of her paperwork for the day.
She opened up the door, leaving a bloody mark on the door handle that she didn't bother to wipe off.
"Tch."
She tossed the knife aside. She definitely preferred guns. They could be easily concealed in a purse, and packed enough power to kill from afar. It was hard to slit someone's throat when they were taller and stronger than she was. Even then, it was messy and inelegant in comparison to the simplicity of guns.
It was a learning experience, at least.
*
She arrived at the edge of the base, dust clinging to her skin. Miss Pauling stepped out, squinting from the afternoon sun. The shuffle of feet, dust in the wind, and a sudden stop.
"Babe, what happened?"
He leapt down, grunting slightly as he landed, up from the higher ground he'd been balancing on.
Miss Pauling felt up to her hair, through the caked on dust and blood. He didn't wait for her answer, closing the distance and leaving marks through the blood. Little fingerprints of his skin on hers. He pushed his fingers through her blood-sticky hair. If he'd had a gun to his head and was given the choice to live or stop touching her, she knew he'd take the bullet.
"Nothing much. I just hit an artery."
"An artery? Ain't that bad?"
"Someone else's artery—that's the last time I'm using knives," she said.
"Oh," he said. He didn't let go of her, or quit looking her over. It didn't take him long to find the nick on her hands. He brought her bloody hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. He didn't even seem to notice—or mind—the roughness of the dirt against his lips.
"You said you weren't hurt," he said.
"It's just a scratch. Besides, you have five bullet holes in your arm alone," she said.
"Fff, that's just a flesh wound," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."
He put his arm about her as they walked, making them a walking target for any cameras that went by, but she didn't draw back. She leaned in, her cheek to his chest, uncaring at the awkward angle or the possible witnesses.
Her little square of home had gotten dusty in her absence. Dust was never far away in Dustbowl; the minute she opened her windows even a crack, everything she owned would be covered. He looped his arm in hers, not even flinching as she brushed across his wounds.
Through doors, through the small apartment, she leaned on the side of the white tub and shower combo as he dipped his fingers under the faucet. Plexiglass covered the wall in white checks and the showerhead had rusted out. It kept dripping no matter how many times she called Engineer to fix it. She laid her glasses on the edge white porcelain sink, and slipped out of her heels and dress, trusting him to guide her as she stepped forward and the world became a blur. He undid her bra, and she shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. There was a run in her hose, her thumb pushing through. She grimaced as she pulled them down; they were the third pair of hose she'd ruined just this week.
The water that circled the silver drain became pink as he began to lather up soap across her arms. Scout cupped water in his hands and dipped it over her shoulders. Soap bubbled up in the drain, as he reached out, knocking several bottles of shampoo with a curse.
"All right, I got this. Come here, you little fucker," he said.
In a few moments, his hands were in her hair, massaging the coconut-scented shampoo into her hair. She leaned against him, her eyes closed as she drew her foot on the edge of the bathtub. Letting someone else take care of her was something new, a novelty. Perfectionism was a dull whisper, and through the shock of the morning, a sense of calm came over her. Not since childhood had she let herself completely fall, trusting someone to catch her.
He always caught her.
He'd cut off the wraps on his hands at some point--she hadn't seen when--and all she felt was bare skin against her neck as he pushed her hair aside to lean in and kiss her. When he pulled back, she looked up to see him, even if just a blur of him.
"There you go. Nothin' but the best for the prettiest girl in the world," he said.
She couldn't make out his expression, but she could guess from the tone of his voice. Affectionate, even wistful. The sort of voice that radiated every thought, and could turn surprisingly tender in a way she'd only ever seen used towards her. One minute a ruthless mercenary, the next, a gentle lover. She hadn't thought this possible for years, but he had ways of proving her wrong.
"You always exaggerate so much," she said.
"Nah, not with you," he said.
"Not even a little?" Miss Pauling said teasingly.
"Not even a little," he said.
"Don't forget the Conditioner," she said.
"I always forget about that, 'cause I don't need it," he said.
Scout managed to get the bottle without dropping it this time, and he set it by his side as he cupped more water from the faucet to rinse her hair flat to her back. No longer dust-caked and dirty, she shivered from the cool air, and he wrapped his arms about her midriff, uncaring as water sloughed over his pants. He rubbed the conditioner in and didn't wait long enough before rinsing it free and down her back. Scout kissed her shoulder, lingering against her, his thumb running circles under her navel.
"There, you're a whole lot cleaner, though you're gettin' dirty just bein' around me," he said, with a chuckle.
"Then I'll have to get you cleaned up," she said.
She turned and tugged on his shirt as he stepped in. There was a rip down the front, several bullet holes around his abdomen which had apparently been healed. She traced a long scar across his chest. Axe, or kukri? At this rate, who could even remember? She pushed the shirt up, seeing with only her touch as he stepped into the tub with her. He undid his pants and pushed them down, and straight into the spray of the faucet.
She kept a change of clothes for him at her apartment for a reason.
He ran his hands down her back, quick and light, until he came to rest his palms on her lower back. She used his shoulders for leverage as she climbed up onto his lap, the sound of running water drowning out his gasp as she ground against him. He kissed along her neck as she ground against him, feeling his quickly harder against her. he said something, drowned out by the faucet and incoherent as she pushed him inside of her. Behind her, she heard a different sound as he leaned back into the tub, and the shower turned on, soaking them thoroughly. She ducked against his chest, rolling her hips as he reached between them to grind his palm against her clit.
The warm and wet spray enveloped them, drowning out the noise of gunfire and bombs. She reached out to pull the opaque curtain shut, enclosing them in warmth.
Her skin, the water, his touch, from inside to out everything felt heated and wonderful. Pleasure rose in her, a soft arc as the pace increased. Steady, slow, his mouth against hers, the hint of teeth as she nipped as his lower lip.
She moaned against his mouth as he thrust deeper into her, making the pleasure rise steadily. Faster, the heat of the water flowing over her skin, flowing between them.
The pressure, the heat and his body pushed her over the edge. She held onto him tight, her breath coming harder through the height, her mind clear of all worries. Just warmth in a steam world of water and him and her.
She heard him sigh, his head leaned back against the wall. Minutes passed, and they just lay there under the stream of water. Finally, there was a squeak, a turn and the water stopped. She shivered for only a moment before he was pulling her close, sharing body heat. He began to dry her off, squeezing out the wetness from her hair.
"We're goin' shoppin'. Next time you're free, we'll hit Mann co. and blow my entire paycheck on you. No complain', this is gonna happen, you're goin' to look like a friggin' sentry gun by the time I'm done with you," he said.
"They won't fit in my purse," she said.
"Then I'll get you a bigger purse, a frickin' ma sized purse, which you can put everythin' and the kitchen sink in," he said.
She loved the smell of guns, freshly minted, carried in leather holsters and the sulfureous smoke residue. There was such a beautiful, controlled violence in them. A little derringer carried in her purse could end the life of a man with a single bullet.
Maybe she should've long ago guessed that it'd take a mercenary to understand the depth of her love of violence, and the calm between the storm of gunfire and bombs.
She'd never thought it'd be him, but she couldn't say she regretted this. Not even in the fights. Not for a moment.
"I'm okay," she said. She looked over her shoulder at the blur of him as he rested his hand at the back of her neck.
"You ain't in Respawn. Someone offs you, you get too close to the blast range, and it's all over." Scout paused. "I'd never see you again, and that worries me so much sometimes—"
She silenced him with a kiss. Water ran against her skin as she pushed against him, wrapping her arms tight about his chest. He was everything she never knew she needed; he never failed to surprise her and win her over, time and time again.
She pulled back to catch her breath. Gooseflesh covered her arms. She rubbed at them, rubbing heat back into her skin.
"Can't help it, I just worry sometimes, is all," he said, his voice low and husky.
She stroked his cheek. She was never good with laying her feelings bare like he was.
"We'll go shopping tonight. And I'll treasure them," she said. Because they were a gift from you.
Scout handed her back her glasses. The glass had steamed them over, so that when she put them on, she could see nothing but white clouds. But she could still hear and feel him near her.
"Don't worry, I got this," he said, as he gripped his hand in hers.
As he stepped out, she did not stumble for a moment.
Series: TF2
Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1920
Author's note: kink_bingo: washing/cleaning. Inspired by this. Established relationship. For and betaed by Multiversecafe.
She wiped her hands on her skirt, only to leave more smears of blood. The last gunshot still rang in her ears. This was far too clumsy a killing for how many times she'd buried her coworkers. Putting the shovel over her shoulder, she loaded up her things. The quicklime would do the rest of the work. Now just to get changed, and finish the rest of her paperwork for the day.
She opened up the door, leaving a bloody mark on the door handle that she didn't bother to wipe off.
"Tch."
She tossed the knife aside. She definitely preferred guns. They could be easily concealed in a purse, and packed enough power to kill from afar. It was hard to slit someone's throat when they were taller and stronger than she was. Even then, it was messy and inelegant in comparison to the simplicity of guns.
It was a learning experience, at least.
*
She arrived at the edge of the base, dust clinging to her skin. Miss Pauling stepped out, squinting from the afternoon sun. The shuffle of feet, dust in the wind, and a sudden stop.
"Babe, what happened?"
He leapt down, grunting slightly as he landed, up from the higher ground he'd been balancing on.
Miss Pauling felt up to her hair, through the caked on dust and blood. He didn't wait for her answer, closing the distance and leaving marks through the blood. Little fingerprints of his skin on hers. He pushed his fingers through her blood-sticky hair. If he'd had a gun to his head and was given the choice to live or stop touching her, she knew he'd take the bullet.
"Nothing much. I just hit an artery."
"An artery? Ain't that bad?"
"Someone else's artery—that's the last time I'm using knives," she said.
"Oh," he said. He didn't let go of her, or quit looking her over. It didn't take him long to find the nick on her hands. He brought her bloody hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. He didn't even seem to notice—or mind—the roughness of the dirt against his lips.
"You said you weren't hurt," he said.
"It's just a scratch. Besides, you have five bullet holes in your arm alone," she said.
"Fff, that's just a flesh wound," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."
He put his arm about her as they walked, making them a walking target for any cameras that went by, but she didn't draw back. She leaned in, her cheek to his chest, uncaring at the awkward angle or the possible witnesses.
Her little square of home had gotten dusty in her absence. Dust was never far away in Dustbowl; the minute she opened her windows even a crack, everything she owned would be covered. He looped his arm in hers, not even flinching as she brushed across his wounds.
Through doors, through the small apartment, she leaned on the side of the white tub and shower combo as he dipped his fingers under the faucet. Plexiglass covered the wall in white checks and the showerhead had rusted out. It kept dripping no matter how many times she called Engineer to fix it. She laid her glasses on the edge white porcelain sink, and slipped out of her heels and dress, trusting him to guide her as she stepped forward and the world became a blur. He undid her bra, and she shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. There was a run in her hose, her thumb pushing through. She grimaced as she pulled them down; they were the third pair of hose she'd ruined just this week.
The water that circled the silver drain became pink as he began to lather up soap across her arms. Scout cupped water in his hands and dipped it over her shoulders. Soap bubbled up in the drain, as he reached out, knocking several bottles of shampoo with a curse.
"All right, I got this. Come here, you little fucker," he said.
In a few moments, his hands were in her hair, massaging the coconut-scented shampoo into her hair. She leaned against him, her eyes closed as she drew her foot on the edge of the bathtub. Letting someone else take care of her was something new, a novelty. Perfectionism was a dull whisper, and through the shock of the morning, a sense of calm came over her. Not since childhood had she let herself completely fall, trusting someone to catch her.
He always caught her.
He'd cut off the wraps on his hands at some point--she hadn't seen when--and all she felt was bare skin against her neck as he pushed her hair aside to lean in and kiss her. When he pulled back, she looked up to see him, even if just a blur of him.
"There you go. Nothin' but the best for the prettiest girl in the world," he said.
She couldn't make out his expression, but she could guess from the tone of his voice. Affectionate, even wistful. The sort of voice that radiated every thought, and could turn surprisingly tender in a way she'd only ever seen used towards her. One minute a ruthless mercenary, the next, a gentle lover. She hadn't thought this possible for years, but he had ways of proving her wrong.
"You always exaggerate so much," she said.
"Nah, not with you," he said.
"Not even a little?" Miss Pauling said teasingly.
"Not even a little," he said.
"Don't forget the Conditioner," she said.
"I always forget about that, 'cause I don't need it," he said.
Scout managed to get the bottle without dropping it this time, and he set it by his side as he cupped more water from the faucet to rinse her hair flat to her back. No longer dust-caked and dirty, she shivered from the cool air, and he wrapped his arms about her midriff, uncaring as water sloughed over his pants. He rubbed the conditioner in and didn't wait long enough before rinsing it free and down her back. Scout kissed her shoulder, lingering against her, his thumb running circles under her navel.
"There, you're a whole lot cleaner, though you're gettin' dirty just bein' around me," he said, with a chuckle.
"Then I'll have to get you cleaned up," she said.
She turned and tugged on his shirt as he stepped in. There was a rip down the front, several bullet holes around his abdomen which had apparently been healed. She traced a long scar across his chest. Axe, or kukri? At this rate, who could even remember? She pushed the shirt up, seeing with only her touch as he stepped into the tub with her. He undid his pants and pushed them down, and straight into the spray of the faucet.
She kept a change of clothes for him at her apartment for a reason.
He ran his hands down her back, quick and light, until he came to rest his palms on her lower back. She used his shoulders for leverage as she climbed up onto his lap, the sound of running water drowning out his gasp as she ground against him. He kissed along her neck as she ground against him, feeling his quickly harder against her. he said something, drowned out by the faucet and incoherent as she pushed him inside of her. Behind her, she heard a different sound as he leaned back into the tub, and the shower turned on, soaking them thoroughly. She ducked against his chest, rolling her hips as he reached between them to grind his palm against her clit.
The warm and wet spray enveloped them, drowning out the noise of gunfire and bombs. She reached out to pull the opaque curtain shut, enclosing them in warmth.
Her skin, the water, his touch, from inside to out everything felt heated and wonderful. Pleasure rose in her, a soft arc as the pace increased. Steady, slow, his mouth against hers, the hint of teeth as she nipped as his lower lip.
She moaned against his mouth as he thrust deeper into her, making the pleasure rise steadily. Faster, the heat of the water flowing over her skin, flowing between them.
The pressure, the heat and his body pushed her over the edge. She held onto him tight, her breath coming harder through the height, her mind clear of all worries. Just warmth in a steam world of water and him and her.
She heard him sigh, his head leaned back against the wall. Minutes passed, and they just lay there under the stream of water. Finally, there was a squeak, a turn and the water stopped. She shivered for only a moment before he was pulling her close, sharing body heat. He began to dry her off, squeezing out the wetness from her hair.
"We're goin' shoppin'. Next time you're free, we'll hit Mann co. and blow my entire paycheck on you. No complain', this is gonna happen, you're goin' to look like a friggin' sentry gun by the time I'm done with you," he said.
"They won't fit in my purse," she said.
"Then I'll get you a bigger purse, a frickin' ma sized purse, which you can put everythin' and the kitchen sink in," he said.
She loved the smell of guns, freshly minted, carried in leather holsters and the sulfureous smoke residue. There was such a beautiful, controlled violence in them. A little derringer carried in her purse could end the life of a man with a single bullet.
Maybe she should've long ago guessed that it'd take a mercenary to understand the depth of her love of violence, and the calm between the storm of gunfire and bombs.
She'd never thought it'd be him, but she couldn't say she regretted this. Not even in the fights. Not for a moment.
"I'm okay," she said. She looked over her shoulder at the blur of him as he rested his hand at the back of her neck.
"You ain't in Respawn. Someone offs you, you get too close to the blast range, and it's all over." Scout paused. "I'd never see you again, and that worries me so much sometimes—"
She silenced him with a kiss. Water ran against her skin as she pushed against him, wrapping her arms tight about his chest. He was everything she never knew she needed; he never failed to surprise her and win her over, time and time again.
She pulled back to catch her breath. Gooseflesh covered her arms. She rubbed at them, rubbing heat back into her skin.
"Can't help it, I just worry sometimes, is all," he said, his voice low and husky.
She stroked his cheek. She was never good with laying her feelings bare like he was.
"We'll go shopping tonight. And I'll treasure them," she said. Because they were a gift from you.
Scout handed her back her glasses. The glass had steamed them over, so that when she put them on, she could see nothing but white clouds. But she could still hear and feel him near her.
"Don't worry, I got this," he said, as he gripped his hand in hers.
As he stepped out, she did not stumble for a moment.
