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luzulaTitle: A Train In the Night
Pairing: Fraser/Victoria
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1000 words
Summary: Victoria on a train.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
stop_drop_porn and the prompt "snow globe". I had plans to finish off my abandoned Frannie/Elaine fic for this round, but nope, this prompt insisted on me writing Fraser/Victoria. This was really easy to write, actually. I don't know if I need to warn for anything--if you don't like angsty stuff, I figure the pairing is probably warning enough. Not beta read due to time constraints.
Another night, another train.
The curtain doesn't quite cover the window, and there's a glimpse of light every time they pass a station. It's an express train, though, and they pass through the small towns with their small stations without stopping. Victoria can hear the sound of the signals, pitched high and then dropping low as they pass.
She doesn't sleep, not really, but she doesn't know if she's awake, either. She turns restlessly in her bunk as the train leans in the curve, and pulls the blanket up. It's like the blankets in prison, scratchy and mass-produced.
There's sound, but it has always been there, it's part of her world now, the rumble of the train as it moves in the night. The sound is part of the movement, it carries her onwards, away from where she came from. It's going to carry her to a new life, where the stink of prison is washed away and she can breathe again.
Victoria brings up her hand to scratch her neck, and it still feels strange, the way her hair is gone. It's short now, and bleached almost white.
She gets tired of staring at the shadows of the luggage on the shelf, and turns onto her back and closes her eyes. She puts her hand underneath the t-shirt she's wearing for a night shirt, and presses it against her ribs underneath her left breast, and finds her heart. It's beating-she can't hear it, but she can feel the rhythm of it, and it's proof that she's alive.
Ben is alive, too. She'd thought he might not be. But she has her channels of information (the newspaper, in this case, and she almost laughs at that, feeling the muscles of her stomach contract with the hand splayed on her chest).
She needs to sleep. In the morning, she'll get off the train again. It won't be her final destination, just another transit point, but she'll need to be alert.
Victoria lets her hand wander up to her nipple, letting her fingers squeeze it idly until it grows hard. She lets images form in her mind, and they inevitably turn into Ben, the way the needle in a compass turns to magnetic north. Ben's hands are gripping her hard, pulling her close like he's waited ten years for this. Her own hands can bring her to release well enough, but they aren't like the urgency of his body against hers. The warmth grows in her cunt, and she pulls her legs up, lets her hand search out that warmth and wetness.
There are other people in the compartment, but it's dark and they should be sleeping, and besides, what business is it of theirs if she's got her legs parted. All she needs is the tiny movement, back and forth, of her fingers, much too small for anyone to notice. Victoria is used to prison life, where's there's no privacy for any one.
Ben's strong body underneath hers, his cock pressing against her thigh. God, she needs him inside her, and he moans as she takes him in, as she takes what she needs from him. His hands on her hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and she pries them off her, holds them down. He's bound now, tied up with scratchy ropes around his wrists and ankles. His eyes are dark and fevered, but he doesn't fight the bonds, just lies there with his arms taut and quivering.
Victoria stiffens and grows still. There's the rustling of someone throwing off a blanket, and the scrape of feet against metal as the woman below her gets up, probably to go to the bathroom. She leaves, shutting the door of the compartment behind her. Victoria moves again, strokes herself, and the adrenaline of almost being seen fuels her arousal.
Ben. He's bound, but his hips still thrust up against hers, and his cock slides into her again and again. Her own hips rise up, off the hard mattress in the sleeper car, on the train, on Ben's bed, and there's the spreading sweetness of her orgasm, almost there. She pushes the image of Ben away and focuses just on her fingers on her clit and on her nipple, and comes. It washes over her in waves, clean and simple pleasure. Victoria relaxes, boneless on the bed, and lets her legs fall apart.
It's what she needed--plain physical release. She doesn't want to be bound by him any more, not in her plans, not in her head.
Victoria slips down into sleep.
In her dreams, she's looking for something. She looks everywhere in her prison cell: in her pillow, among her clothes, in the frame of the bed. She tears the mattress apart, smashes the lightbulb, desperate to find whatever it is—she doesn't know what it is, only that she'll know it when she finds it, and that it's the key to get the fuck out of there.
The lack of sound and movement wakes her, and Victoria opens her eyes. Her heart is pounding. The train has stopped, and after a while she hears the rumble of another train. They probably stopped to let a freight train pass.
The dream--it's slipping away, but she was looking for something. Like Ben was. She hopes he tore the whole house apart before he found it, hidden in that snowglobe. It's a test she set him--if he really remembered what they went through together in the blizzard on that mountainside, he'd find it.
And he had. But it had all gone wrong anyway.
The train starts to move. Mercifully, she's sleepy again, and she closes her eyes. Every minute is taking her further away from Ben.
She's going forward, not back.
Pairing: Fraser/Victoria
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1000 words
Summary: Victoria on a train.
Notes: For
stop_drop_porn and the prompt "snow globe". I had plans to finish off my abandoned Frannie/Elaine fic for this round, but nope, this prompt insisted on me writing Fraser/Victoria. This was really easy to write, actually. I don't know if I need to warn for anything--if you don't like angsty stuff, I figure the pairing is probably warning enough. Not beta read due to time constraints. Another night, another train.
The curtain doesn't quite cover the window, and there's a glimpse of light every time they pass a station. It's an express train, though, and they pass through the small towns with their small stations without stopping. Victoria can hear the sound of the signals, pitched high and then dropping low as they pass.
She doesn't sleep, not really, but she doesn't know if she's awake, either. She turns restlessly in her bunk as the train leans in the curve, and pulls the blanket up. It's like the blankets in prison, scratchy and mass-produced.
There's sound, but it has always been there, it's part of her world now, the rumble of the train as it moves in the night. The sound is part of the movement, it carries her onwards, away from where she came from. It's going to carry her to a new life, where the stink of prison is washed away and she can breathe again.
Victoria brings up her hand to scratch her neck, and it still feels strange, the way her hair is gone. It's short now, and bleached almost white.
She gets tired of staring at the shadows of the luggage on the shelf, and turns onto her back and closes her eyes. She puts her hand underneath the t-shirt she's wearing for a night shirt, and presses it against her ribs underneath her left breast, and finds her heart. It's beating-she can't hear it, but she can feel the rhythm of it, and it's proof that she's alive.
Ben is alive, too. She'd thought he might not be. But she has her channels of information (the newspaper, in this case, and she almost laughs at that, feeling the muscles of her stomach contract with the hand splayed on her chest).
She needs to sleep. In the morning, she'll get off the train again. It won't be her final destination, just another transit point, but she'll need to be alert.
Victoria lets her hand wander up to her nipple, letting her fingers squeeze it idly until it grows hard. She lets images form in her mind, and they inevitably turn into Ben, the way the needle in a compass turns to magnetic north. Ben's hands are gripping her hard, pulling her close like he's waited ten years for this. Her own hands can bring her to release well enough, but they aren't like the urgency of his body against hers. The warmth grows in her cunt, and she pulls her legs up, lets her hand search out that warmth and wetness.
There are other people in the compartment, but it's dark and they should be sleeping, and besides, what business is it of theirs if she's got her legs parted. All she needs is the tiny movement, back and forth, of her fingers, much too small for anyone to notice. Victoria is used to prison life, where's there's no privacy for any one.
Ben's strong body underneath hers, his cock pressing against her thigh. God, she needs him inside her, and he moans as she takes him in, as she takes what she needs from him. His hands on her hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and she pries them off her, holds them down. He's bound now, tied up with scratchy ropes around his wrists and ankles. His eyes are dark and fevered, but he doesn't fight the bonds, just lies there with his arms taut and quivering.
Victoria stiffens and grows still. There's the rustling of someone throwing off a blanket, and the scrape of feet against metal as the woman below her gets up, probably to go to the bathroom. She leaves, shutting the door of the compartment behind her. Victoria moves again, strokes herself, and the adrenaline of almost being seen fuels her arousal.
Ben. He's bound, but his hips still thrust up against hers, and his cock slides into her again and again. Her own hips rise up, off the hard mattress in the sleeper car, on the train, on Ben's bed, and there's the spreading sweetness of her orgasm, almost there. She pushes the image of Ben away and focuses just on her fingers on her clit and on her nipple, and comes. It washes over her in waves, clean and simple pleasure. Victoria relaxes, boneless on the bed, and lets her legs fall apart.
It's what she needed--plain physical release. She doesn't want to be bound by him any more, not in her plans, not in her head.
Victoria slips down into sleep.
In her dreams, she's looking for something. She looks everywhere in her prison cell: in her pillow, among her clothes, in the frame of the bed. She tears the mattress apart, smashes the lightbulb, desperate to find whatever it is—she doesn't know what it is, only that she'll know it when she finds it, and that it's the key to get the fuck out of there.
The lack of sound and movement wakes her, and Victoria opens her eyes. Her heart is pounding. The train has stopped, and after a while she hears the rumble of another train. They probably stopped to let a freight train pass.
The dream--it's slipping away, but she was looking for something. Like Ben was. She hopes he tore the whole house apart before he found it, hidden in that snowglobe. It's a test she set him--if he really remembered what they went through together in the blizzard on that mountainside, he'd find it.
And he had. But it had all gone wrong anyway.
The train starts to move. Mercifully, she's sleepy again, and she closes her eyes. Every minute is taking her further away from Ben.
She's going forward, not back.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-20 11:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 02:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 12:14 pm (UTC)I'm taking that as a compliment! Yeah, it's scary how easy I find it to write Victoria. Inside her own head, she makes perfect sense.
And I've been on overnight trains many times. I know that feeling by heart--the one where you're sort of stuck between sleeping and waking and feeling the train move.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 12:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-20 02:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-20 04:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 04:56 am (UTC)Oh, I liked this a lot, Luzula. Hot but bitter and sad and lonely.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 01:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 01:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-22 01:14 pm (UTC)