christmas porn! for lack of a better title
Dec. 8th, 2006 03:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wizened_cynicI'm posting Part Two of Christmas fic here, so that Lo will have something to read just in case I don't get home from my shrink appointment in time tomorrow.
SHUT UP.
It's 3 in the morning and I'm fucking exhausted and yeah, it's porny and kind of retarded and I suck at porn and you know that but I think you should just let me off because I do not use any of the following words in my sex scenes: nub, nectar, honey, essence, folds, moist, and anything that rhymes with hokies.
Any references to The Odyssey are courtesy of my CLST prof and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deuce81.
The title of the whole three-parter fic is (temporarily) Happy Christmas (War is Over) but I might change it because it is kind of cheesy and retarded. Yes, the fic is cheesy and retarded, but there's no need for people to KNOW THAT just from the title. The section titles are from T.S. Eliot's Burnt Norton. Lo came up with them, because she is the best.
Again, always. For the girl.
part two: all is always now
Her second Christmas in Stars Hollow is much like her first Christmas in Stars Hollow, which is to say that the fake Santas emerge as soon as the paper turkeys are taken down, and Kirk begins running around practicing his lines for the Christmas pageant.
"I'm Joseph," he tells anyone who is unfortunate enough to listen. He's always Joseph, but this year he's going to speak as if he had a cold. "Joseph could've had allergies," Kirk says. "The animals in the stable could have agitated his already congested sinus. I'm trying to make him sound more real, more like ... one of the guys."
The main difference between this year and last is that Lorelai is staying away from roofs at all cost and has managed, so far, to refrain from falling off any infrastructures. Instead, she has taken to parading around the house wearing nothing but this ridiculous Santa hat that Alex hates. Alex supposes she should choose her battles --- after all, Lorelai is naked, and at least she isn't wearing those obnoxious reindeer antlers that play "Joy to the World" --- but the damn thing lights up on the end and glows in the dark.
Plus, it really turns Alex on more than she'd like to admit, leaving her in a state of perpetual arousal and annoyance. She's already lost track of how many pairs of underwear Lorelai has ruined for her.
Lorelai takes her inconsideration to whole new levels when she begins sucking on a candy cane during their sixth game of gin rummy in a manner that can easily be construed as pornographic. Alex is sure that if she had any of it on tape as evidence, she could convict Lorelai on an obscenity charge.
"Okay, stop," Alex says, thankful that she is sitting on the floor and therefore temporarily out of Emily Gilmore's line of sight. Lorelai swears she must have done something horrible in her past life, because Christmas Eve is on a Friday this year, and to add insult to injury, an ice storm is whipping through Hartford like a blitzkrieg and their car won't start.
Emily has offered to let Lorelai and Alex stay the night, and now they are sitting together in the den, in front of the fireplace, and Lorelai's lips are swollen from fellating a cherry-flavored candy cane.
"Stop what?" Lorelai widens her eyes with faux-innocence. She swirls her tongue around the loop of candy and when she finally removes her lips from it with a loud slurp, Alex feels herself getting wet, just like that.
"I hate you," Alex says, and picks up her cards.
Lorelai grins. Her teeth are stained a lurid shade of red.
Alex has to look away. "You're cheating."
"No, I'm not. I'm enjoying my seasonal candy."
"You're distracting me."
"Am I?"
"You're just bitter," Alex says, "because I kicked your ass at blackjack last time." Which resulted in Lorelai having to sleep on the wet spot until the end of eternity, or when Paris Hilton stops being indiscriminately affectionate with men, whichever should come first. Alex considers adding that Lorelai is the very worst sore loser Alex has ever come across. She whines about her predicament every chance she gets, which alleviates most of Alex's guilt for having won by cheating.
Unable to think of a response, Lorelai thrusts the candy cane into her mouth and begins making noises that Alex has previously only heard in pornographic films submitted into evidence by the people.
"Lorelai!" Alex hisses below her breath. "Your mother is two feet away from us! Your daughter is upstairs!"
"Calling her girlfriend," Lorelai points out in a whisper.
"Regardless. I think you should take into consideration that," Alex pauses, "this is not the time or place for you to . . ." She's at a loss for words. Alexandra Cabot had never been at a loss for words before Lorelai Gilmore.
"Oh, no." Lorelai puts her hand over her chest, her jaw dropping in mock horror. "My mother's going to catch us having sex, and she'll ground me for three weeks and take away my phone privileges!"
Alex throws her cards down onto the carpet. "I hate you," she repeats, and Lorelai's got that shit-eating grin on her face again, one which, were Emily and Richard Gilmore in another room, Alex would've devoured in the time it takes for Lorelai to order herself a cup of coffee.
Her underwear is still damp an hour later, when she heads upstairs for bed.
Emily is insisting on separate bedrooms, and Alex complies because she does not wish to spend the night in a room with a poster of the Go-Gos staring at her from the ceiling.
"They're classic," Lorelai protested when Alex revealed her disdain during the grand tour of Lorelai's bedroom. "And feminist. We're gay. We have to support the feminists."
"I have nothing against feminism, but they're pink," Alex replied, "and they look like they're going to climb out of the poster and slaughter me in my sleep."
"Honestly, Claire, I wouldn't worry about the girls slaughtering you in your sleep when you've got my mother in the next room, planning to do the deed herself."
But Emily doesn't instill fear in Alex as these women --- apparently their names are Charlotte, Belinda, Gina, Cathy, and Jane --- do. Despite Emily's best efforts, Alex finds her more comical than intimidating. She reminds Alex of her mother's friends, and these days Alex is able to long for her mother without feeling like the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She's grateful for that, for the way a conversation with Emily reminds her of the secret exchange of sly smiles Alex and her mother used to share whenever one of her insufferable, overbearing acquaintances came to visit.
It does grate that Emily believes Alex grew up on a farm, in a family that butchered their own Christmas ham. Instead of refuting these ludicrous suggestions, Lorelai kept encouraging Alex to regale her parents with wacky antics of Christmas traditions in the Midwest, where apparently there is no electricity or indoor heating. According to Lorelai, Alex spent her childhood holidays wrapped in blankets and huddled in front of a wood-burning stove while her grandmother roasted chestnuts over an open fire and the womenfolk waited for the men to come home with the game.
At one point Alex had to interrupt Lorelai's story. "Iowa isn't exactly deer country," she said, and Lorelai made an sound with her tongue that emphasized she was telling the story, not Alex, and she carried on before Alex could tell her to at least get the facts straight.
Emily, under the impression that Alex is an uncultured brute from the bowels of the Midwest, has placed Alex in an impressive guest suite with an adjoining bathroom practically carved out of black marble, laying out for Alex the new sheets she'd bought last week. "This will be the best sleep you've ever had," Emily told her. "One hundred-percent pure Egyptian cotton, with an 800-thread count. You have never felt anything like it, Claire, I guarantee."
Alex didn't tell her that until two years ago, she'd never slept on anything with a thread count below a thousand.
As she stretches herself out on the bed, the sheets below her deliver their promise of feeling like something Alex has never felt before. Home, maybe, or the longing of home. The memory of home. The memory of being Alex, Alexandra Cabot, Assistant District Attorney ---
It's Christmas, and she's not home.
She's not in New York; she's not even in Stars Hollow. Loathe as she is to admit it, Stars Hollow has been feeling like home for a while, and if she can't be where she should be, at least she ought to be where she wants to be.
Merry Christmas, Claire, she says to herself, and closes her eyes. She doesn't expect tears anymore; these days, the longing comes in waves, like labor pains. It strikes hard and leaves her in gut-clenching agony, but it passes, and then she's all right again. Lorelai is there.
Lorelai is there, like Lorelai is here now, slipping through the door in her bare feet and tip-toeing toward Alex's bed. Alex can make out her shape, her form, even in the dark.
"Hi," Lorelai whispers.
"Hi," Alex whispers back.
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
Lorelai tugs at a corner of the duvet and creeps under the covers, and before Alex can make sense of what the hell is going on, she's got a lap full of Lorelai, who is now sliding her hands behind Alex's neck and reeling her forward into a kiss.
"What are you doing?" Alex asks, when she finally breaks for air. Lorelai's lips taste like artificial cherry. "Good god, Lorelai, did you eat another candy cane after you brushed your teeth? Do you realize that is practically a sickness?"
"Yes, to both of that. And," Lorelai leans down and grazes Alex's bottom lip with her teeth, "I'm here to ruin my mother's new sheets."
"You're very vindictive," and Alex is cut off by Lorelai's tongue parting her lips. They kiss until she's pushed all thoughts of New York out of her mind, until the hollow in her chest feels full and tight and about to explode, until she hears nothing but the sound of her pulse in her ears and Lorelai's heartbeat against her skin and everything is only Lorelai's name and Lorelai's lips and Lorelai's hands.
"Okay," she pants, as Lorelai pulls off the Yale T-shirt Alex borrowed from Rory as a nightgown and trails her tongue along Alex's clavicle and kisses her way down her sternum, "phone privileges. Remember, Lorelai? Phone privileges."
"I'll send telegraphs," and Alex arches back as Lorelai pushes her legs apart. A minute later Lorelai's sliding a finger into her, and then two, and her tongue is on Alex's clit, and the muscles in her thighs are so tight that it doesn't take long. She feels herself contracting as Lorelai curls her fingers and hits that spot that sends her hips bucking and her head arching back until the crown of it is pressed against the mattress.
Lorelai draws out her climax with a few sloppy thrusts, and Alex is sure the space-time continuum has been broken and she lost a few seconds of time somewhere, because the next thing she knows, Lorelai is curled up against her again, with that self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"You're so easy," Lorelai chortles.
"You're so full of yourself."
"What's that you say? Why, you're welcome, Claire. It was my pleasure to unwind your normally uptight ass and give you an orgasm second only to the earth-shattering, world-coloring one the mom had in Pleasantville."
"You're comparing me to the mom in Pleasantville?"
"It set the tree on fire!"
Alex considers telling Lorelai, "Fuck you," but Lorelai will probably say something irritating and obvious along the lines of, "I believe I just did," and besides, actions speak louder than words.
Lorelai is not quiet in bed. She is loud and demanding and insists on giving out directions more specific than the ones given by GPS systems in overpriced sedans. "I meant my right," she snapped at Alex once. "Do you need coordinates? Would that help? Because I could give you coord --- oh!" In retaliation, Alex had drawn four orgasms out of her, until Lorelai cried uncle and never dared again to remotely suggest that Alex didn't know what she was doing.
This time, however, she's quiet, whimpering softly as she makes fists against the sheets and lets Alex find her way, like Odysseus finding his way home. Her mouth travels over the curves of Lorelai's breasts, across the smooth plains of Lorelai's stomach, down the soft valley between her thighs. Lorelai tastes sour and hot, like green apples and cinnamon hearts, and as Alex's tongue finds her clit, she closes her eyes and thinks of the Sirens. She swears she can almost hear their song.
She works her tongue and her fingers, thrusting in rhythm with Lorelai's hips, imagines the Lotus Eaters as Lorelai squirms and turns beneath her, imagines Lorelai holding out the lotus fruit and asking her to take a bite, and Alex does, and when Lorelai comes, calling out "Claire, Claire," Alex doesn't even notice.
They lie toe-to-toe afterwards, spent. They take a minute, or ten, to catch their breath, and at last Lorelai rolls over on one elbow and says, "I think it's safe to say that we have thoroughly ruined my mother's sheets."
"I think I agree with your assessment."
"We should pat ourselves on the back for doing such a good job. And maybe do a little victory dance! Oh, and we can ---"
Alex puts her hand over Lorelai's mouth, cutting her off. She yawns and stretches her arm, leaves it draped across Lorelai's body. "Can we do it tomorrow?" Her eyelids feel heavy and she is so tired she won't even contend with the fact that Lorelai is not sleeping on the wet spot as previously bargained. Rory's Yale t-shirt proves to be useful. Alex will have to remember to take it to the dry cleaner's later.
"Tomorrow," Lorelai murmurs, her voice growing thick with sleep. "Tomorrow is Christmas."
"I know."
"I love Christmas."
"I know."
"Merry Christmas, Claire."
"Merry Christmas, Lorelai."
Lorelai plants a kiss on Alex's shoulder and Alex runs her fingers through Lorelai's hair until they fall asleep.
Emily finds them like that the next morning.
Part uno can be found here.
It should also be noted that the name Lorelai, in fact, means "siren's lure" in ancient Gaelic or something.
SHUT UP.
It's 3 in the morning and I'm fucking exhausted and yeah, it's porny and kind of retarded and I suck at porn and you know that but I think you should just let me off because I do not use any of the following words in my sex scenes: nub, nectar, honey, essence, folds, moist, and anything that rhymes with hokies.
Any references to The Odyssey are courtesy of my CLST prof and
deuce81.The title of the whole three-parter fic is (temporarily) Happy Christmas (War is Over) but I might change it because it is kind of cheesy and retarded. Yes, the fic is cheesy and retarded, but there's no need for people to KNOW THAT just from the title. The section titles are from T.S. Eliot's Burnt Norton. Lo came up with them, because she is the best.
Again, always. For the girl.
Her second Christmas in Stars Hollow is much like her first Christmas in Stars Hollow, which is to say that the fake Santas emerge as soon as the paper turkeys are taken down, and Kirk begins running around practicing his lines for the Christmas pageant.
"I'm Joseph," he tells anyone who is unfortunate enough to listen. He's always Joseph, but this year he's going to speak as if he had a cold. "Joseph could've had allergies," Kirk says. "The animals in the stable could have agitated his already congested sinus. I'm trying to make him sound more real, more like ... one of the guys."
The main difference between this year and last is that Lorelai is staying away from roofs at all cost and has managed, so far, to refrain from falling off any infrastructures. Instead, she has taken to parading around the house wearing nothing but this ridiculous Santa hat that Alex hates. Alex supposes she should choose her battles --- after all, Lorelai is naked, and at least she isn't wearing those obnoxious reindeer antlers that play "Joy to the World" --- but the damn thing lights up on the end and glows in the dark.
Plus, it really turns Alex on more than she'd like to admit, leaving her in a state of perpetual arousal and annoyance. She's already lost track of how many pairs of underwear Lorelai has ruined for her.
Lorelai takes her inconsideration to whole new levels when she begins sucking on a candy cane during their sixth game of gin rummy in a manner that can easily be construed as pornographic. Alex is sure that if she had any of it on tape as evidence, she could convict Lorelai on an obscenity charge.
"Okay, stop," Alex says, thankful that she is sitting on the floor and therefore temporarily out of Emily Gilmore's line of sight. Lorelai swears she must have done something horrible in her past life, because Christmas Eve is on a Friday this year, and to add insult to injury, an ice storm is whipping through Hartford like a blitzkrieg and their car won't start.
Emily has offered to let Lorelai and Alex stay the night, and now they are sitting together in the den, in front of the fireplace, and Lorelai's lips are swollen from fellating a cherry-flavored candy cane.
"Stop what?" Lorelai widens her eyes with faux-innocence. She swirls her tongue around the loop of candy and when she finally removes her lips from it with a loud slurp, Alex feels herself getting wet, just like that.
"I hate you," Alex says, and picks up her cards.
Lorelai grins. Her teeth are stained a lurid shade of red.
Alex has to look away. "You're cheating."
"No, I'm not. I'm enjoying my seasonal candy."
"You're distracting me."
"Am I?"
"You're just bitter," Alex says, "because I kicked your ass at blackjack last time." Which resulted in Lorelai having to sleep on the wet spot until the end of eternity, or when Paris Hilton stops being indiscriminately affectionate with men, whichever should come first. Alex considers adding that Lorelai is the very worst sore loser Alex has ever come across. She whines about her predicament every chance she gets, which alleviates most of Alex's guilt for having won by cheating.
Unable to think of a response, Lorelai thrusts the candy cane into her mouth and begins making noises that Alex has previously only heard in pornographic films submitted into evidence by the people.
"Lorelai!" Alex hisses below her breath. "Your mother is two feet away from us! Your daughter is upstairs!"
"Calling her girlfriend," Lorelai points out in a whisper.
"Regardless. I think you should take into consideration that," Alex pauses, "this is not the time or place for you to . . ." She's at a loss for words. Alexandra Cabot had never been at a loss for words before Lorelai Gilmore.
"Oh, no." Lorelai puts her hand over her chest, her jaw dropping in mock horror. "My mother's going to catch us having sex, and she'll ground me for three weeks and take away my phone privileges!"
Alex throws her cards down onto the carpet. "I hate you," she repeats, and Lorelai's got that shit-eating grin on her face again, one which, were Emily and Richard Gilmore in another room, Alex would've devoured in the time it takes for Lorelai to order herself a cup of coffee.
Her underwear is still damp an hour later, when she heads upstairs for bed.
Emily is insisting on separate bedrooms, and Alex complies because she does not wish to spend the night in a room with a poster of the Go-Gos staring at her from the ceiling.
"They're classic," Lorelai protested when Alex revealed her disdain during the grand tour of Lorelai's bedroom. "And feminist. We're gay. We have to support the feminists."
"I have nothing against feminism, but they're pink," Alex replied, "and they look like they're going to climb out of the poster and slaughter me in my sleep."
"Honestly, Claire, I wouldn't worry about the girls slaughtering you in your sleep when you've got my mother in the next room, planning to do the deed herself."
But Emily doesn't instill fear in Alex as these women --- apparently their names are Charlotte, Belinda, Gina, Cathy, and Jane --- do. Despite Emily's best efforts, Alex finds her more comical than intimidating. She reminds Alex of her mother's friends, and these days Alex is able to long for her mother without feeling like the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She's grateful for that, for the way a conversation with Emily reminds her of the secret exchange of sly smiles Alex and her mother used to share whenever one of her insufferable, overbearing acquaintances came to visit.
It does grate that Emily believes Alex grew up on a farm, in a family that butchered their own Christmas ham. Instead of refuting these ludicrous suggestions, Lorelai kept encouraging Alex to regale her parents with wacky antics of Christmas traditions in the Midwest, where apparently there is no electricity or indoor heating. According to Lorelai, Alex spent her childhood holidays wrapped in blankets and huddled in front of a wood-burning stove while her grandmother roasted chestnuts over an open fire and the womenfolk waited for the men to come home with the game.
At one point Alex had to interrupt Lorelai's story. "Iowa isn't exactly deer country," she said, and Lorelai made an sound with her tongue that emphasized she was telling the story, not Alex, and she carried on before Alex could tell her to at least get the facts straight.
Emily, under the impression that Alex is an uncultured brute from the bowels of the Midwest, has placed Alex in an impressive guest suite with an adjoining bathroom practically carved out of black marble, laying out for Alex the new sheets she'd bought last week. "This will be the best sleep you've ever had," Emily told her. "One hundred-percent pure Egyptian cotton, with an 800-thread count. You have never felt anything like it, Claire, I guarantee."
Alex didn't tell her that until two years ago, she'd never slept on anything with a thread count below a thousand.
As she stretches herself out on the bed, the sheets below her deliver their promise of feeling like something Alex has never felt before. Home, maybe, or the longing of home. The memory of home. The memory of being Alex, Alexandra Cabot, Assistant District Attorney ---
It's Christmas, and she's not home.
She's not in New York; she's not even in Stars Hollow. Loathe as she is to admit it, Stars Hollow has been feeling like home for a while, and if she can't be where she should be, at least she ought to be where she wants to be.
Merry Christmas, Claire, she says to herself, and closes her eyes. She doesn't expect tears anymore; these days, the longing comes in waves, like labor pains. It strikes hard and leaves her in gut-clenching agony, but it passes, and then she's all right again. Lorelai is there.
Lorelai is there, like Lorelai is here now, slipping through the door in her bare feet and tip-toeing toward Alex's bed. Alex can make out her shape, her form, even in the dark.
"Hi," Lorelai whispers.
"Hi," Alex whispers back.
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
Lorelai tugs at a corner of the duvet and creeps under the covers, and before Alex can make sense of what the hell is going on, she's got a lap full of Lorelai, who is now sliding her hands behind Alex's neck and reeling her forward into a kiss.
"What are you doing?" Alex asks, when she finally breaks for air. Lorelai's lips taste like artificial cherry. "Good god, Lorelai, did you eat another candy cane after you brushed your teeth? Do you realize that is practically a sickness?"
"Yes, to both of that. And," Lorelai leans down and grazes Alex's bottom lip with her teeth, "I'm here to ruin my mother's new sheets."
"You're very vindictive," and Alex is cut off by Lorelai's tongue parting her lips. They kiss until she's pushed all thoughts of New York out of her mind, until the hollow in her chest feels full and tight and about to explode, until she hears nothing but the sound of her pulse in her ears and Lorelai's heartbeat against her skin and everything is only Lorelai's name and Lorelai's lips and Lorelai's hands.
"Okay," she pants, as Lorelai pulls off the Yale T-shirt Alex borrowed from Rory as a nightgown and trails her tongue along Alex's clavicle and kisses her way down her sternum, "phone privileges. Remember, Lorelai? Phone privileges."
"I'll send telegraphs," and Alex arches back as Lorelai pushes her legs apart. A minute later Lorelai's sliding a finger into her, and then two, and her tongue is on Alex's clit, and the muscles in her thighs are so tight that it doesn't take long. She feels herself contracting as Lorelai curls her fingers and hits that spot that sends her hips bucking and her head arching back until the crown of it is pressed against the mattress.
Lorelai draws out her climax with a few sloppy thrusts, and Alex is sure the space-time continuum has been broken and she lost a few seconds of time somewhere, because the next thing she knows, Lorelai is curled up against her again, with that self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"You're so easy," Lorelai chortles.
"You're so full of yourself."
"What's that you say? Why, you're welcome, Claire. It was my pleasure to unwind your normally uptight ass and give you an orgasm second only to the earth-shattering, world-coloring one the mom had in Pleasantville."
"You're comparing me to the mom in Pleasantville?"
"It set the tree on fire!"
Alex considers telling Lorelai, "Fuck you," but Lorelai will probably say something irritating and obvious along the lines of, "I believe I just did," and besides, actions speak louder than words.
Lorelai is not quiet in bed. She is loud and demanding and insists on giving out directions more specific than the ones given by GPS systems in overpriced sedans. "I meant my right," she snapped at Alex once. "Do you need coordinates? Would that help? Because I could give you coord --- oh!" In retaliation, Alex had drawn four orgasms out of her, until Lorelai cried uncle and never dared again to remotely suggest that Alex didn't know what she was doing.
This time, however, she's quiet, whimpering softly as she makes fists against the sheets and lets Alex find her way, like Odysseus finding his way home. Her mouth travels over the curves of Lorelai's breasts, across the smooth plains of Lorelai's stomach, down the soft valley between her thighs. Lorelai tastes sour and hot, like green apples and cinnamon hearts, and as Alex's tongue finds her clit, she closes her eyes and thinks of the Sirens. She swears she can almost hear their song.
She works her tongue and her fingers, thrusting in rhythm with Lorelai's hips, imagines the Lotus Eaters as Lorelai squirms and turns beneath her, imagines Lorelai holding out the lotus fruit and asking her to take a bite, and Alex does, and when Lorelai comes, calling out "Claire, Claire," Alex doesn't even notice.
They lie toe-to-toe afterwards, spent. They take a minute, or ten, to catch their breath, and at last Lorelai rolls over on one elbow and says, "I think it's safe to say that we have thoroughly ruined my mother's sheets."
"I think I agree with your assessment."
"We should pat ourselves on the back for doing such a good job. And maybe do a little victory dance! Oh, and we can ---"
Alex puts her hand over Lorelai's mouth, cutting her off. She yawns and stretches her arm, leaves it draped across Lorelai's body. "Can we do it tomorrow?" Her eyelids feel heavy and she is so tired she won't even contend with the fact that Lorelai is not sleeping on the wet spot as previously bargained. Rory's Yale t-shirt proves to be useful. Alex will have to remember to take it to the dry cleaner's later.
"Tomorrow," Lorelai murmurs, her voice growing thick with sleep. "Tomorrow is Christmas."
"I know."
"I love Christmas."
"I know."
"Merry Christmas, Claire."
"Merry Christmas, Lorelai."
Lorelai plants a kiss on Alex's shoulder and Alex runs her fingers through Lorelai's hair until they fall asleep.
Emily finds them like that the next morning.
Part uno can be found here.
It should also be noted that the name Lorelai, in fact, means "siren's lure" in ancient Gaelic or something.
