Fic: Make the Rules As I Go
Dec. 20th, 2009 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Make the Rules As I Go
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zoe
Notes: 717 words. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
1297's fabulous "Naughty or Nice" meme and lilyrose_fic's prompt: "Chris/Zoe, naughty: If I were a boy." Consider it a follow-up to How the Girl Feels, though it can stand alone, I think.
Warning: Cross-dressing, drag king antics.
Summary: Chris likes to play dress-up; Zoe gets inspired to return the favor.
"Do you really think he'll like it?" she asks Zach for the hundredth time. He's been telling her: it's not about whether or not she pulls it off, just that she's doing it. He smiles patiently and adjusts the slim knot of her tie, yanking down on the end of the fabric.
"He'll love it. This is Chris we're talking about, Z. Chris, who dresses up in lady clothes."
"But that's him. This is me. It's different."
"Precisely," he says, kissing the tip of her nose. "It's you."
She looks down so he doesn't catch her blushing and reaches up to check the hold of the many bobby pins supporting her bun. She takes the gray fedora when he offers it; it's a perfect fit.
*
A part of her feels like she's simply masquerading in a Halloween costume. But as soon as she sees Chris for the first time, she knows she can only make this work if she completely owns it. The bar is packed with Zach's acquaintances, rented out for the evening (the bar, that is, and possibly the acquaintances), and no one seems to really notice her, not even Chris as he takes advantage of the small maneuvering space beside her stool.
"Hey," he says, flagging down the bartender. "Lemme get a—"
"He'll have what I'm having," she interjects. She can feel his stare even with the rim of the fedora tilted down over her eyes; she has to tilt her chin up to see him. His eyes go wide with recognition, then, his laughter a timid flutter of breath.
"Oh, my god," he murmurs, letting his eyes wander over her. "Z."
"'Z' will do."
The bartender brings over another scotch, neat, and Chris picks it up, looking between the glass and her slender form, all decked out in menswear. Between the slackened tie and the pinstripes, the shined points of her shoes, he doesn't quite know where to look first. He gets a glimpse of the broad band holding down her breasts between the buttons of her dress shirt. His fingers twitch along the slick condensation of his glass, itching to touch and explore, unravel her.
"Easy, baby," she whispers, sensing his thoughts. "You'll get your chance. First, you enjoy that drink I bought you."
"I will," he says, taking a sip. He licks his lips and nods, tilting his hip against the bar, jutting his chest out. Presenting himself. "I am."
She tilts the fedora's rim down and grins.
*
She smokes a long cigarette as he unwraps her, exhaling away from his face. His fingers are shaking, his entire body still thrumming from the orgasm she just ripped out of him. She's been packing all night and after he noticed, all it took was a nod to get his legs around her thighs, his hips rolling furiously against hers. She told him to take off his shirt and open his jeans; she tapped a gentle but demanding rhythm against his opening in time with her whispered chant.
My boy. My boy. My boy.
He looked so gorgeous when he came, uttered such dirty little sounds, that she made him leave the jeans on. She wanted to keep him just like this: debauched and frayed, shivery and bright-eyed.
Chris sucks gently on her nipples when they're no longer bound, reddened and extra-sensitive from the constant rubbing of the fabric. She whimpers and clutches the cigarette so as not to drop it on the bed. Finally, he takes it away from her, stealing a drag before stubbing it out on the ashtray on the bedside table.
"That's enough now, Z," he says, unbuckling the harness away from her curves and revealing the second skin beneath. "I want her back."
Trousers below her knees and breasts bared between the open, creased folds of her shirt, she's all there for the taking, waiting for him. Chris smiles and eyes the fedora but says nothing, simply sliding a finger inside her. In the end, gravity claims it, her head tipping back as she breathes his name. Zoe gasps as Chris takes her by the hips and roughly pulls her down the bed, away from the fallen hat—the last of the evening's persona—and ever closer to the hot bliss of his open mouth.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chris/Zoe
Notes: 717 words. Written for
1297's fabulous "Naughty or Nice" meme and lilyrose_fic's prompt: "Chris/Zoe, naughty: If I were a boy." Consider it a follow-up to How the Girl Feels, though it can stand alone, I think.Warning: Cross-dressing, drag king antics.
Summary: Chris likes to play dress-up; Zoe gets inspired to return the favor.
"Do you really think he'll like it?" she asks Zach for the hundredth time. He's been telling her: it's not about whether or not she pulls it off, just that she's doing it. He smiles patiently and adjusts the slim knot of her tie, yanking down on the end of the fabric.
"He'll love it. This is Chris we're talking about, Z. Chris, who dresses up in lady clothes."
"But that's him. This is me. It's different."
"Precisely," he says, kissing the tip of her nose. "It's you."
She looks down so he doesn't catch her blushing and reaches up to check the hold of the many bobby pins supporting her bun. She takes the gray fedora when he offers it; it's a perfect fit.
*
A part of her feels like she's simply masquerading in a Halloween costume. But as soon as she sees Chris for the first time, she knows she can only make this work if she completely owns it. The bar is packed with Zach's acquaintances, rented out for the evening (the bar, that is, and possibly the acquaintances), and no one seems to really notice her, not even Chris as he takes advantage of the small maneuvering space beside her stool.
"Hey," he says, flagging down the bartender. "Lemme get a—"
"He'll have what I'm having," she interjects. She can feel his stare even with the rim of the fedora tilted down over her eyes; she has to tilt her chin up to see him. His eyes go wide with recognition, then, his laughter a timid flutter of breath.
"Oh, my god," he murmurs, letting his eyes wander over her. "Z."
"'Z' will do."
The bartender brings over another scotch, neat, and Chris picks it up, looking between the glass and her slender form, all decked out in menswear. Between the slackened tie and the pinstripes, the shined points of her shoes, he doesn't quite know where to look first. He gets a glimpse of the broad band holding down her breasts between the buttons of her dress shirt. His fingers twitch along the slick condensation of his glass, itching to touch and explore, unravel her.
"Easy, baby," she whispers, sensing his thoughts. "You'll get your chance. First, you enjoy that drink I bought you."
"I will," he says, taking a sip. He licks his lips and nods, tilting his hip against the bar, jutting his chest out. Presenting himself. "I am."
She tilts the fedora's rim down and grins.
*
She smokes a long cigarette as he unwraps her, exhaling away from his face. His fingers are shaking, his entire body still thrumming from the orgasm she just ripped out of him. She's been packing all night and after he noticed, all it took was a nod to get his legs around her thighs, his hips rolling furiously against hers. She told him to take off his shirt and open his jeans; she tapped a gentle but demanding rhythm against his opening in time with her whispered chant.
My boy. My boy. My boy.
He looked so gorgeous when he came, uttered such dirty little sounds, that she made him leave the jeans on. She wanted to keep him just like this: debauched and frayed, shivery and bright-eyed.
Chris sucks gently on her nipples when they're no longer bound, reddened and extra-sensitive from the constant rubbing of the fabric. She whimpers and clutches the cigarette so as not to drop it on the bed. Finally, he takes it away from her, stealing a drag before stubbing it out on the ashtray on the bedside table.
"That's enough now, Z," he says, unbuckling the harness away from her curves and revealing the second skin beneath. "I want her back."
Trousers below her knees and breasts bared between the open, creased folds of her shirt, she's all there for the taking, waiting for him. Chris smiles and eyes the fedora but says nothing, simply sliding a finger inside her. In the end, gravity claims it, her head tipping back as she breathes his name. Zoe gasps as Chris takes her by the hips and roughly pulls her down the bed, away from the fallen hat—the last of the evening's persona—and ever closer to the hot bliss of his open mouth.
