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snoggedTitle: Ground Strike
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Gwen/Darla
Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13; adult language, sexual innuendo
Word Count: 1024
Summary: A mission for Wolfram and Hart turns out differently than Gwen expected.
Setting: Angel, Season 2.
Beta Crew:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snowpuppies. All other mistakes are mine.
Author’s Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femslash_minis “Gwen Raiden” challenge. I was assigned to brutti_ma_buoni who wanted to see Gwen/Darla, storm lightning, criminal conduct, sense of fun, and no pregnant!Darla.
Rain drops smacked against Gwen’s face. They briefly captured the lightning that enveloped Gwen’s skin and sizzled as they dropped to the cement. Minor - wet - explosions splashed against her ankles as the water made impact with the puddles.
She glanced up and watched the sky, breathless, as the thunder clapped and white-hot light arced through the clouds.
With an ounce of bitterness, she grimaced, it was a mockery of the reality she lived with every day.
On the upshot, she didn’t get hit this time.
Even if there was nothing quite like the forked-tongue for fourteen fucking lightning strikes to set your flesh on fire.
In a totally kinky way, it was honestly kind of hot.
Gwen sighed deeply and turned on her spiked heel, leather pants creaking ever-so-slightly as she sauntered toward the museum where brightly colored lights twinkled and well-dressed ladies and gents scurried under the Grecian-style pillars, seeking protection for their hair, their Versace, their….
Whatever.
She wasn’t here to wonder what these people care about. She also certainly didn’t give a shit about this gala or its fucking tribute to the stars.
She was here to do a job. Here to get hers. Get the lawyer’s. Get new leather hip-huggers. Get on with her life.
Same old shit.
Different day.
*
Darla glided around the perimeter of the dance floor, her black velvet dress hugging her curves. The gown was tight enough to bring attention, but loose enough that it wouldn’t draw the unwanted kind.
Darla stayed close to the shadows as she indulged in her favorite game of ‘guess the street walker.’ Those women were there, fingers barely brushing the elbows of the johns that had paid a night’s wages for them. It was astoundingly pathetic how these tramps smiled serenely and longingly at the women who actually had it all.
The men would die first, coating her tongue with blood and blubber, and the whore would follow.
Not a bad choice for a night’s meal.
Or…
Her eyes flicked across the room, just in time to see a small crowd descend on the snack table. They passed around glasses filled with golden bubbling champagne and gorged themselves gourmet crackers coated in fish insides into their mouths.
They were all the same. Like flies battling for a piece of the world’s best prime rib-cut shit.
She pursed her lips, debated her options, and wondered just how much she could fit into this delicious night.
After all, she still had a job to do: Find the girl. Get the document. Bring Lindsey one last smile before Wolfram and Hart burned.
Luckily enough for her, red leather and tight black midriff tops don’t blend well in a crowd of flashy tuxedos and designer-label evening gowns.
*
Gwen rolled the black silk glove down her arm, quickly tugging at the cloth to free herself from the fabric cage. The lock to the office was computer operated, a code needed to trigger the release. Unless you had electrical currents running through your skin and then it was just one quick press of the hand and boom – wires fried, door opened.
She moved into the room, sliding the glove back up her arm, pulling the bobby pin out of her hair and setting to work on the file cabinet’s manual lock. Moments later, the drawer popped open and she started rifling through the files, searching for the one, Lilah Morgan, wanted so badly she had practically promised to suck Gwen off the moment the folder was placed in the lawyer’s grubby little hands.
Bingo.
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
Gwen’s heart raced as she whipped her head around to look into the mesmerizing eyes of the woman who had caught her.
“Who the hell are you?” Gwen hissed.
The woman smirked, danger flashing in her eyes. “Darla.”
There was power in that name, power behind that name.
As if it meant something.
Darla continued, not exactly looking for a response from the girl. “It must be fun going through their things, all the little pieces locked away to save the mystery. For their eyes only. Or so they believe, right? I bet it gives you a naughty little sense of control to see inside their souls.” The latter was emphasized with a hip wiggle and a seductive smile.
“What do you know?” Gwen huffed
“I know enough, dearie. I have been around for centuries,” Darla replied, grinning like the Cheshire-cat.
Gwen watched in disbelief as Darla’s face shifted, as hard ridges formed along the lines of her forehead, as porcelain white fangs descended over her pouty bottom lip.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Gwen asked.
Darla smiled, yellow eyes flashing with delight. “Only if you want it to.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” Gwen said firmly.
“Good,” Darla replied, moving towards Gwen and closing the gap between them. Darla reached out, her fingers gently brushing against Gwen’s bare shoulder.
“Don’t,” Gwen warned, aching for the touch almost as much as she wanted to reject it. “You’re not the only freakshow in the room.”
“They weren’t kidding. You’re the girl,” Darla mused.
Gwen smirked, briefly cupping her breasts to prove her point: “Duh. Always am the girl, aren’t I?”
“You can’t hurt me,” Darla replied, her vampire visage retreating as her human face returned.
“I hurt everyone,” Gwen replied, pressing her gloved hands against Darla’s arms, zapping her with bolts of electricity.
“Not me,” Darla replied, barely flinching. “Already dead.”
Gwen inhaled sharply, savoring the unexpected moment before grabbing Darla’s shoulders again and pulling her in for a passionate, demanding kiss.
Darla moaned, receptive to Gwen’s desires, sinking her nails into the soft flesh above Gwen’s hip bones.
Gwen pulled back after a minute or two, grinning. “Nice kiss.”
“There’s more where that came from,” Darla murmured, sliding her hands around to cup Gwen’s ass.
“Ever been struck by lighting, Darla?” Gwen asked, slowly guiding Darla backwards towards the mahogany desk in the middle of the office. Darla groaned, bringing her hands up Gwen’s back and tangling her fingers in Gwen’s dark hair as their lips met for another ravenous, lust-filled kiss.
“Because you’re about to.”
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Gwen/Darla
Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13; adult language, sexual innuendo
Word Count: 1024
Summary: A mission for Wolfram and Hart turns out differently than Gwen expected.
Setting: Angel, Season 2.
Beta Crew:
snowpuppies. All other mistakes are mine.Author’s Note: Written for
femslash_minis “Gwen Raiden” challenge. I was assigned to brutti_ma_buoni who wanted to see Gwen/Darla, storm lightning, criminal conduct, sense of fun, and no pregnant!Darla.Rain drops smacked against Gwen’s face. They briefly captured the lightning that enveloped Gwen’s skin and sizzled as they dropped to the cement. Minor - wet - explosions splashed against her ankles as the water made impact with the puddles.
She glanced up and watched the sky, breathless, as the thunder clapped and white-hot light arced through the clouds.
With an ounce of bitterness, she grimaced, it was a mockery of the reality she lived with every day.
On the upshot, she didn’t get hit this time.
Even if there was nothing quite like the forked-tongue for fourteen fucking lightning strikes to set your flesh on fire.
In a totally kinky way, it was honestly kind of hot.
Gwen sighed deeply and turned on her spiked heel, leather pants creaking ever-so-slightly as she sauntered toward the museum where brightly colored lights twinkled and well-dressed ladies and gents scurried under the Grecian-style pillars, seeking protection for their hair, their Versace, their….
Whatever.
She wasn’t here to wonder what these people care about. She also certainly didn’t give a shit about this gala or its fucking tribute to the stars.
She was here to do a job. Here to get hers. Get the lawyer’s. Get new leather hip-huggers. Get on with her life.
Same old shit.
Different day.
*
Darla glided around the perimeter of the dance floor, her black velvet dress hugging her curves. The gown was tight enough to bring attention, but loose enough that it wouldn’t draw the unwanted kind.
Darla stayed close to the shadows as she indulged in her favorite game of ‘guess the street walker.’ Those women were there, fingers barely brushing the elbows of the johns that had paid a night’s wages for them. It was astoundingly pathetic how these tramps smiled serenely and longingly at the women who actually had it all.
The men would die first, coating her tongue with blood and blubber, and the whore would follow.
Not a bad choice for a night’s meal.
Or…
Her eyes flicked across the room, just in time to see a small crowd descend on the snack table. They passed around glasses filled with golden bubbling champagne and gorged themselves gourmet crackers coated in fish insides into their mouths.
They were all the same. Like flies battling for a piece of the world’s best prime rib-cut shit.
She pursed her lips, debated her options, and wondered just how much she could fit into this delicious night.
After all, she still had a job to do: Find the girl. Get the document. Bring Lindsey one last smile before Wolfram and Hart burned.
Luckily enough for her, red leather and tight black midriff tops don’t blend well in a crowd of flashy tuxedos and designer-label evening gowns.
*
Gwen rolled the black silk glove down her arm, quickly tugging at the cloth to free herself from the fabric cage. The lock to the office was computer operated, a code needed to trigger the release. Unless you had electrical currents running through your skin and then it was just one quick press of the hand and boom – wires fried, door opened.
She moved into the room, sliding the glove back up her arm, pulling the bobby pin out of her hair and setting to work on the file cabinet’s manual lock. Moments later, the drawer popped open and she started rifling through the files, searching for the one, Lilah Morgan, wanted so badly she had practically promised to suck Gwen off the moment the folder was placed in the lawyer’s grubby little hands.
Bingo.
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
Gwen’s heart raced as she whipped her head around to look into the mesmerizing eyes of the woman who had caught her.
“Who the hell are you?” Gwen hissed.
The woman smirked, danger flashing in her eyes. “Darla.”
There was power in that name, power behind that name.
As if it meant something.
Darla continued, not exactly looking for a response from the girl. “It must be fun going through their things, all the little pieces locked away to save the mystery. For their eyes only. Or so they believe, right? I bet it gives you a naughty little sense of control to see inside their souls.” The latter was emphasized with a hip wiggle and a seductive smile.
“What do you know?” Gwen huffed
“I know enough, dearie. I have been around for centuries,” Darla replied, grinning like the Cheshire-cat.
Gwen watched in disbelief as Darla’s face shifted, as hard ridges formed along the lines of her forehead, as porcelain white fangs descended over her pouty bottom lip.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Gwen asked.
Darla smiled, yellow eyes flashing with delight. “Only if you want it to.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” Gwen said firmly.
“Good,” Darla replied, moving towards Gwen and closing the gap between them. Darla reached out, her fingers gently brushing against Gwen’s bare shoulder.
“Don’t,” Gwen warned, aching for the touch almost as much as she wanted to reject it. “You’re not the only freakshow in the room.”
“They weren’t kidding. You’re the girl,” Darla mused.
Gwen smirked, briefly cupping her breasts to prove her point: “Duh. Always am the girl, aren’t I?”
“You can’t hurt me,” Darla replied, her vampire visage retreating as her human face returned.
“I hurt everyone,” Gwen replied, pressing her gloved hands against Darla’s arms, zapping her with bolts of electricity.
“Not me,” Darla replied, barely flinching. “Already dead.”
Gwen inhaled sharply, savoring the unexpected moment before grabbing Darla’s shoulders again and pulling her in for a passionate, demanding kiss.
Darla moaned, receptive to Gwen’s desires, sinking her nails into the soft flesh above Gwen’s hip bones.
Gwen pulled back after a minute or two, grinning. “Nice kiss.”
“There’s more where that came from,” Darla murmured, sliding her hands around to cup Gwen’s ass.
“Ever been struck by lighting, Darla?” Gwen asked, slowly guiding Darla backwards towards the mahogany desk in the middle of the office. Darla groaned, bringing her hands up Gwen’s back and tangling her fingers in Gwen’s dark hair as their lips met for another ravenous, lust-filled kiss.
“Because you’re about to.”
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no subject
on 2012-11-25 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2012-11-27 02:01 am (UTC)