?

Log in

 
 
07 June 2012 @ 12:00 am
Mini fills  
Some that may not be so mini.

But, plurk requests, and so shall I fill.

Mostly because plurk paste fucks up my formatting. And plurk is not the greatest storage system.



Fills:
-Fleecy Blankets
-Sex on a washing machine
-Beautiful, long, slinky dresses
-Brushing hair
-Shoe porn
-Someone dressing someone else
-Someone bathing someone else
-Altaïr interrupts Darcy and Ezio and gets pulled into the pile
-Darcy trolling Altaïr and convincing him modern women's clothes are for men
 
 
 
Katnapkins on June 7th, 2012 07:00 am (UTC)
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck McHarran and his crew of catty bitches, fuck her boss that didn't stand up for her, fuck this whole stupid field. Why did she even choose to go into politics to begin with? See the world. It sounded great when they put it like that - become an ambassador, travel to foreign lands, learn about other cultures, but they never told you about the pure and utter bullshit you had to put up with from other people to get there. Oh, sure, it'd been pretty clear that she'd be working with a bunch of backstabbers; it's all politics really was, in the end, but for them to sink that low, all for a silly larger desk.

It takes her three tries to even get her key into the door, and by the time she's got it open, she feels like throwing her keys across the room. She settles for throwing her heels into the closet, grinning darkly at the thump-thump she hears as they hit the back. It's enough to make Takeshi poke his head out from the kitchen to look down the entrance hall at her. She knows he knows she's in a mood - she's never been one to hide her emotions, and he could always read her like a book anyways, so she's not surprised when she can feel his arms wrap around her, a murmured, "c'mere, gorgeous." His hands rub soothing circles against her back, and she relaxes visibly. She'd swear up and down that Takeshi's hands were magic, and that if he wasn't on the fast track to being pro baseball's darling, he should open a massage parlor and make millions. Her tension seeps out of her shoulders, so by the time Ezio joins them, coursework set aside once they've taken far longer than normal to make it past the entrance hall, she no longer feels like crying or screaming in frustration.

It's still a close thing, but after a few more minutes of simply standing there, her lovers pressing comforting kisses, rubbing warm circles into her skin, she feels human enough to move them to the couch. They curl into the corner of it, a tangle of limbs as she tries to burrow herself into the two of them to try to forget her day. The bitches can wait to be dealt with until tomorrow. For now, Takeshi is dragging a blanket over the three of them, the large microfleece she couldn't stop petting, carrying around the store with them until Takeshi had pried it out of her arms, laughing, as he handed it to the cashier. It's more worn now, over the years, but no less soft, and carries memories of comfort, of cold nights made warm by shared body heat, of flus chased away by chicken soup and attentive lovers, of falling asleep after sex on the couch, too warm and sated to move the twenty steps to their bedroom. Now it is there again, and she breathes in the scent of her lovers, flanking her on either side, and she swears, if she could just bottle their scents, Takeshi's clean and crisp, like a forest after a rain, Ezio's smokier, leather-bound books and sweat from dancing, her day would be so much easier. But they are here now, wrapping her in warmth and comfort, and that is all that matters.