Title : Muscle and Bone and Feathers
Author : Gunbunny
E-Mail : email@example.com
Rating : I dunno. contains nudity and swearing.
Summary : Jenny in bed with Shen and doing a bit of musing. Authority
Disclaimer : Stalin owns Jenny and most of the Authority. Some other
bloke owns Shen.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Dedication : This one's for Kate for the title. But mostly for Jane and
Te, because I've been reading their Chamber and Skin fic far too much
recently. Dammit, why can't I write sex scenes?
http://kabukivice.com/gisaku , anywhere else feel free.
Muscle and Bone and Feathers
Shen's skin is soft. Unsurprising, really.
She's young, she takes good care of it, and she's not inclined to go
sunbathing a lot. Skin that's a part of feeling for wind currents so she
can divine the future in their gusts, telling her which way to go, which
way the Huntress should fly to seek her prey.
Jenny doesn't know who gifted the Authority with those poncey-sounding
nicknames that ended up being so horribly bloody descriptive. Christ,
whoever thought up 'Night's Bringer of War' should be put up against a
wall and shot. Come the revolution. People use that phrase a lot. 'Come
the revolution, _insert name here_ will be first against the wall.'
Jenny's seen a lot've revolutions in her time. The named people don't
always go up against the wall, though. Often as not, the people they say
should be shot are the ones that end up on the local equivalent of the
throne, or at least on the inner circle. And the ones that end up against
the wall, bewildered as to how they got there, are the ones that dreamt up
the revolution in the first place. Sad, really. Jenny's always pitied
those mad bastards who thought dreams could get you somewhere and be made
real without hurting anyone. Dreams that start rolling in the light of
day normally turn out to be nightmares. And they gather a fuckload of
Jenny's had her own dreams, the mad, bad, crazy ones, but they mostly got
taken off at the kneecaps by the reality she could see, the fact that most
people are utter wankers. They can't help themselves. Seems to be wired
into their DNA. Lets her fingers trace down Shen's spine, the feel of the
vertebrae underneath banishing the skittering depressive thoughts to the
back of her mind for a few seconds, so they can seethe quietly on their
own. Lightens the touch even more, so it's just the very fine hairs she's
touching. Dips into the hollow of her lower back, tracing circles and
spirals and strange archaic symbols; comforting and arousing at the same
time. Shen just shivers and hums slightly. It's a definite pleased
sound, human equivalent of a purr. Pretty.
Jenny pauses to shift the angle she's propped up at, so she can relieve
the stiffness in her shoulder before it starts. Staying in one position
too long's never been a strong point of hers. Moves her fingers from the
hollow to skitter down Shen's bum, back and forth across the skin there.
From her bum to the top of her legs, across a tiny scar Shen has no idea
how she got. Jenny's asked, and the only thing Shen can think of is that
she got it somehow as a kid, sitting on something sharp. Jenny's buggered
if she can think of any better reason. She's got scars in a couple of odd
places herself that she can't account for. They're in the minority to the
ones she can, though. Pushes those thoughts back to where they came from,
promising them decent whisky later. Maybe Teacher's. She hasn't had that
in a while, be good to have something that doesn't start with Glen- or
Mac- whatever the pissed Scotsmen came up with.
Back of the knees now, which is as far as Jenny can stretch from this
position. Tickles them, and there's the faintest *whuf* of breath from
Shen. Yeah, definitely ticklish, and Jenny knows all her hot spots.
Stops the torment, traces back up the inside of the legs to find another
ticklish spot, but instead of tickling, she decides just to trace round
the area for now. Likes the laziness of this extended moment.
Moves her fingers back up to the one of the unbelievably sensitive spots
that Shen's wings sprout out of. If Jenny pinches the skin, or digs her
fingers with their bitten nails into that spot at the right moment during
sex, it sends Shen right over the edge. You'd think there would be a scar
there, something to denote that massive fucking wings that have no place
on a human sprout from there. But no, not even a bit of skin a slightly
Jenny still can't figure out where all that mass to create the wings comes
from. Muscle and bone and feathers, and it's a fucking lot, because those
wings are bloody massive, bigger than Shen's petite frame. The others on
the team don't change, their power's something fucked up in their muscles
and hind-brains. Shen just grows these wings and then drops them when she
no longer needs them. Memory intrudes of a time Shen was trying to melt
them down in the bathtub of some nameless hotel in a city full of coppers
with superpowers, and just the image makes her smirk. Beat 'em to death
with the wet ends.
Traces from the mark up to Shen's hairline now, and around to her ears.
Shen turns her face towards the touch, revealing her nose. Jenny's
tempted for an instant by a childish impulse to tweak it, but dismisses
it. Nah. Not worth it. Last touch is one across Shen's lips. Very
soft, these. Bloody talented, too.
They quirk into a half-smile. Without opening her eyes, Shen reaches out
and pulls Jenny up the bed so they're level, then scoots over so her
head's nestled on Jenny's shoulder. The message is quite clear; Shen wants
to sleep and thinks Jenny should, too. Sod it. Might as well follow her
END. Now bugger off and buy Warren Ellis comics. It's for your own good.
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