Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Written for the eighth round of femslash_minis: Fred. I was assigned lostakasha, who requested Fred/the Transuding Furies, "sexysteamy and fun."

Title: Mine Aren't Kind
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Angel
Ship: Fred/Transuding Furies
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: The mad whose hands are butterflies.
Notes: Set between S3 and S4

Fred doesn't sleep anymore, not since Angel and Cordelia disappeared.

At night, she can usually distract herself with patrols, or with Charles. During the day, however, she's less at ease, especially when she's alone in the hotel.

She's not so much bothered by danger as by the silence.

When she mentions it to Lorne, over mimosas and caramel popcorn and the best of Julia Roberts, he pats her on the shoulder.

"You should stop by and see the Transuding Furies, swizzle stick," he chirps. "They'll put your mind at ease."

Fred pokes him in the ribs and steals his Sea Breeze. "I'm not scared," she protests. "I don't need a ward."

He sighs. "All the same, sugar cane, you should talk to them anyway." He snatches his drink back with a smile. "I think you could use a little magic in your life again."

She rolls her eyes, and ignores the implication.


Two days later, however, she's being ushered into the Furies' reception room by a maid, and seconds later, they float in to confront her.

"I passed Justin Timberlake in the hallway," she blurts out. "Lorne loves him."

The three women smile at her, not in unison, but in succession.

Fred eyes each of them in turn. "Y'all are sisters?"

"We are--"

"--but not--"

"--as you mean."

Fred blinks. "Oh. Okay."

"What is it--"

"--you wish--"

"--to ask of us?"

They hover closer to her, and one of them drapes across the back of the sofa, behind her. The skin behind Fred's ears buzzes, and she tries not to yelp.

Another one almost reclines beside her, a sliver of space between her body and the cushions, and between her body and Fred's.

Fred gulps, turns her attention to the one before her. She is, Fred notices, wearing an extremely filmy robe.

Fred shuts her eyes. "Lorne thought I should talk to y'all. About the hotel."

A hand brushes against her shoulder, another over her thigh.

"A temporary--"


"--is possible."

"Temporary," Fred squeaks, as fingers trail under the hem of her skirt. "Temporary's fine."

"But there is--"

"--a matter of--"

"--due compensation."

A presence settles on her other side, and she glances over in time to see the third Fury bend her head, nip Fred's collarbone.

"Oh, god." Fred squeezes her eyes shut again, tries to concentrate on the fragmented conversation, instead of the blood rushing to her face and to...other places. "I don't have a lot of money to pay for the--"

"Money is--"

"--not what--"

"--we would have."

A palm settles warm on Fred's chest, thumb brushing over the rise of her nipple through the fabric.

Fred turns her head, looks one of the Furies in the eye, even as the other two begin to unzip, unbutton, undress her.

"This is what you seek," the woman murmurs.

Fred startles at the full sentence, and nods. Bites her lip.

And she reaches out, hooks her fingers into the lace of the woman's robe. Tugs, and it falls away like mist. She turns to the other two, and they're already unclothed, and so is she.

They wrap their arms around her, and Fred's eyes widen as they all float up, halfway to the ceiling. She trembles, thinks she might fall, but then they begin to touch her, and she can't think of anything but that.

There's a mouth pressed against her throat, and a tongue circling over her breasts. A hand traces patterns inside her thighs, then presses between her legs.

Fred moans, twists in the air, and when her lips brush against skin, she reaches out. Cups a breast in her hand, opens her mouth to take it in. She laughs at the startled moan that ensues, and a pair of legs wraps around one of hers, hips thrusting against her.

A thumb circles against her clit, and she jerks, sees one of them grin, and then two fingers push, slide into her, slow and sweet. She arches, whimpers dizzily, and then there are three fingers inside her, a tongue dipping slow against her clit.

Everything is cool air and warm skin, and Fred feels like she's burning, dissolving into steam. One of them moans, an urgent peal, and Fred comes, a white flash behind her eyes.

For a long moment, they sink, and when they rest upon the sofa again, Fred finally manages to catch her breath.

The Furies are still entangled around her, limbs and hair and knowing grins.

Fred frowns. "Is that it?"

"If you wish--"

"--your debt--"

"--is paid."

She considers this, then stretches, nerves sparking pleasantly as their bodies rub together.

"That hardly seems fair," she muses aloud. "I mean, y'all didn't even finish, really."

The Furies watch her, and Fred gasps when one of them presses a knee between her legs, another reaching across her to fondle the third's breasts.

"One thing, though?" Fred asks, her voice faint.

"You shall have--"


"--you wish."

Fred grins. "Could we stay on the ground this time?"


A/N: Title and summary adapted from Amy E Parker's Rapture at 24th and Guadelupe. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.

Originally linked here. Linked on femslash_minis.


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Dec. 6th, 2005 05:07 pm (UTC)
Oh, this was perfect!

So much more than I expected -- lyrical and breathtaking, a sweet, lovely little dream.

Thank you so very much!
Dec. 7th, 2005 03:42 am (UTC)
Yay! I am so glad you like it!
Dec. 8th, 2005 10:52 pm (UTC)
This is great! And with such a difficult pairing, too.

Lorne's small part is wonderful and the Furies are fun and sexy. Really liked it!
Dec. 15th, 2005 10:23 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much! It was a challenge, definitely. *g*
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )

Latest Month

November 2018


Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Kenn Wislander