The perfect evening: cake, porn, bed.
Apr. 12th, 2009 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: And Don't Trip Over the Furniture
Summary: It's all Radek can do just to hold on.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1594
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, schoolgirl kink, roleplay
Pairing: Weir/Zelenka
A/N: The title, of course, comes from everybody's favorite Noel Coward quote, "Just say the lines and don't trip over the furniture." This story started its life as a D/s-y McWeir fic; but, for several reasons, that collapsed, much like a flan in a cupboard. Additionally, Weir/Zelenka fic in general seems to suffer from a dearth of fuckin'. So I wrote some, so that perhaps the fic gods will hear my just and noble plea.
When the door opens, Elizabeth is there, leaning on one arm against the door frame, standing with her long legs crossed and her hip cocked out to one side.
"Miss Weir," he says, feeling more than a little silly, especially because he seems to be blushing. "Please, come in."
"Thank you," she says, her voice already a little thick, pushing off the wall and walking into his room.
He watches her with disguised lust, trying to look like he doesn't know what's coming. Her ensemble, like so many things are stranded here in the middle of nowhere, is a collaborative, mish-mash affair: someone's- someone about a size smaller than Elizabeth, so that her firm, high breasts strain the material- medical uniform shirt, zipped as far down as it will go; the terrifyingly tall spike heels that some unnamed and utterly foolish scientist brought as her personal item, which seem to get passed around after every party; a broad, Athosian-made headband; and Radek's only tie.
The skirt, though- the skirt is new to him. The gray and pink plaid fits so well that Elizabeth must have bought it for herself, though it's far too short, showing off miles and miles of her long, smooth legs. It flounces a bit as she sways in her walk, little glimpses of plain white panties fluttering in and out of view underneath it.
Most women would look ridiculous, but Elizabeth just looks incandescent.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Professor Zelenka," she says, sitting down in his desk chair, ostentatiously crossing her legs one over the other, her skirt riding far up her thighs. Radek tries not to look; instead, he focuses on brushing imaginary lint off of his couch before sitting down.
"You have come to talk about Differential Equations, I take it?" She gives him a little eyebrow raise at that; when they'd talked this out, it'd been elementary statistics, but Radek can't really resist. The Navier-Stokes equations are much sexier than normal distributions and standard deviations.
"I'm very unsatisfied with my grade this quarter," she says, recovering. "I have to make a B in this class or I'll lose my scholarship." He knows Elizabeth has never failed at anything, probably never even made a B in her life, but she says it with complete sincerity. "I'm not prepared to do that."
"You don't turn in homework," he sighs, very clearly remembering how much his students used to frustrate him with these same problems. "Every time I look over, you are writing text messages, drawing in notebook. If only you would apply yourself, you would have an A."
"There must be something more I can do," she says, putting her hands in her lap and leaning forward a little. By the time he manages to stop staring down her shirt and look back up at her face, she's smirking at him like she's got him right where she wants him. And she definitely does- she always has.
He shrugs, acting nonchalant even as his mouth goes dry. "Perhaps with extra credit, tutoring sessions-"
She cuts him off with a throaty laugh. "That's not quite what I was thinking of."
"What did you have in mind?" he asks, despite the fact that even someone from a planet with no formal educational system would know what she means by now.
She stands up, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. "Why don't I just show you?"
"What are you doing?" he asks, aping confusion as she closes the distance between them and straddles him, pressing him back into the couch. "Miss Weir, this is very inap-" She cuts off his protests at the source, pressing her lips to his. He doesn't even pretend to fight back, letting her have full run of his mouth.
"Please, professor," she says, leaning away from him so that she can pull her borrowed shirt off, "call me Liz."
The tie stays on; Radek decides it looks far, far better on her than it ever has on him, trailing down and contrasting sharply with the white lace of her bra. Radek just doesn't even know where to look- at the hungry look on her face, at the way her chest rises and falls with her heavy breaths, at the long column of her neck as she grinds her hips against him and throws her head back.
He brings his hands up as if to stave her off, maybe push her away, but she catches them instead, leading them up her stomach and onto her breasts. She puts her hands over his; he barely needs the encouragement, catching her nipples and pulling gently at them with his thumbs.
She leans away from him, dragging her fingers down and underneath her skirt. He doesn't need to see it to know what she's doing, but he stares anyway, watching how her arm flexes with it. It isn't a very long show, though, because she picks that moment to start sucking on his neck, finding out sensitive places with her teeth and tongue.
The back of her wrist keeps brushing against him, tortuously light touches that do nothing but get him agitated. "Miss Weir," he pants, not even sure what he's asking for. "Liz, please-"
She pulls back, looking down at him. She looks so amazing, so unlike herself, poised above him with her lips wet and swollen, her clothing half gone and half wrecked. She looks so uncharacteristically inelegant, almost feral, and Radek just really can't get enough of it.
"You're right, this is very inappropriate," she says, faking innocence even as she lifts her hand and brushes her damp fingers across his lips. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Let's not be too hasty," he replies quickly, before sucking her fingertips into his mouth.
She doesn't even waste the time in getting them undressed further; her clever fingers find the zipper of his slacks, yanking it down before reaching in and getting his cock free. She just pulls her underwear to one side and pushes down onto him; and god, every time he's inside her is as intense and perfect as the very first time, and he still feels totally amazed. More amazing still, she climaxes almost as soon as she's on him, shaking and gasping into his neck. He bites his lip and hangs on, because he doesn't figure she's done with him yet- and he certainly isn't ready for her to be.
True to form, she barely takes a breath to recover before she starts moving against him. She rides him hard, rolling her hips into his over and over again; he traces his hands up her legs, rucking her skirt up around her hips so that he can watch as she slides up and down on him. He can't really do much else- she's completely in control of this, taking him just exactly how she wants him, and she looks so good doing it that stopping her is the farthest thing from his mind. He focuses on more important things instead, like slipping a hand down in between them so that he can rub at her clit; he'd really love to do this all day, but if she keeps just going after him like she is he isn't going to last much longer at all.
She starts moving faster then, taking him hard and deep with every stroke of her hips; he knows she must be close, her movements erratic and frantic, but she still has the presence of mind to lean down and put her lips right against his ear.
"Come inside me, Professor Zelenka," she whispers, punctuating it with a bite to his earlobe. He's afraid he's going to knock her off the couch, as hard as he thrusts his hips up, but she just moves down to meet him; and in that perfect, improbable second, they're both coming, his head falling back against the couch, her mouth forming voiceless syllables at the ceiling.
They just cling to each other for a long while after that, until Radek- whether by design or clumsiness- tips them over so that they're laying down across the couch, Elizabeth's head against his chest.
"Thank god I never had any students like you," he says, stroking her hair. "I never would have left the university."
She snorts a little at that. "So, do I pass?"
He groans. "You can have tenure if you want. Or maybe you would like to be dean? Or take over the world? I would help."
"I already rule a world," she says flippantly. "I certainly don't need another one."
This is how he really likes to see her- boneless and sated and so unlike what everybody else knows her as. "That was what you wanted?" he asks anyway, because it isn't really about him.
"Oh, oh yes," she says, and he doesn't miss the way her cheeks pink slightly. "Definitely."
"Doesn't seem to be much of a fantasy if you have to do all the work."
She waves a hand in vaguely dismissive gesture. "We can do one of yours next time."
"How about the one with the gorgeous American diplomat and the little Czech engineer?" he says, kissing her temple. "It is my favorite."
She squirms against him, groaning low in her throat. "Not that little."
He laughs into her hair.
Summary: It's all Radek can do just to hold on.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1594
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, schoolgirl kink, roleplay
Pairing: Weir/Zelenka
A/N: The title, of course, comes from everybody's favorite Noel Coward quote, "Just say the lines and don't trip over the furniture." This story started its life as a D/s-y McWeir fic; but, for several reasons, that collapsed, much like a flan in a cupboard. Additionally, Weir/Zelenka fic in general seems to suffer from a dearth of fuckin'. So I wrote some, so that perhaps the fic gods will hear my just and noble plea.
When the door opens, Elizabeth is there, leaning on one arm against the door frame, standing with her long legs crossed and her hip cocked out to one side.
"Miss Weir," he says, feeling more than a little silly, especially because he seems to be blushing. "Please, come in."
"Thank you," she says, her voice already a little thick, pushing off the wall and walking into his room.
He watches her with disguised lust, trying to look like he doesn't know what's coming. Her ensemble, like so many things are stranded here in the middle of nowhere, is a collaborative, mish-mash affair: someone's- someone about a size smaller than Elizabeth, so that her firm, high breasts strain the material- medical uniform shirt, zipped as far down as it will go; the terrifyingly tall spike heels that some unnamed and utterly foolish scientist brought as her personal item, which seem to get passed around after every party; a broad, Athosian-made headband; and Radek's only tie.
The skirt, though- the skirt is new to him. The gray and pink plaid fits so well that Elizabeth must have bought it for herself, though it's far too short, showing off miles and miles of her long, smooth legs. It flounces a bit as she sways in her walk, little glimpses of plain white panties fluttering in and out of view underneath it.
Most women would look ridiculous, but Elizabeth just looks incandescent.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Professor Zelenka," she says, sitting down in his desk chair, ostentatiously crossing her legs one over the other, her skirt riding far up her thighs. Radek tries not to look; instead, he focuses on brushing imaginary lint off of his couch before sitting down.
"You have come to talk about Differential Equations, I take it?" She gives him a little eyebrow raise at that; when they'd talked this out, it'd been elementary statistics, but Radek can't really resist. The Navier-Stokes equations are much sexier than normal distributions and standard deviations.
"I'm very unsatisfied with my grade this quarter," she says, recovering. "I have to make a B in this class or I'll lose my scholarship." He knows Elizabeth has never failed at anything, probably never even made a B in her life, but she says it with complete sincerity. "I'm not prepared to do that."
"You don't turn in homework," he sighs, very clearly remembering how much his students used to frustrate him with these same problems. "Every time I look over, you are writing text messages, drawing in notebook. If only you would apply yourself, you would have an A."
"There must be something more I can do," she says, putting her hands in her lap and leaning forward a little. By the time he manages to stop staring down her shirt and look back up at her face, she's smirking at him like she's got him right where she wants him. And she definitely does- she always has.
He shrugs, acting nonchalant even as his mouth goes dry. "Perhaps with extra credit, tutoring sessions-"
She cuts him off with a throaty laugh. "That's not quite what I was thinking of."
"What did you have in mind?" he asks, despite the fact that even someone from a planet with no formal educational system would know what she means by now.
She stands up, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. "Why don't I just show you?"
"What are you doing?" he asks, aping confusion as she closes the distance between them and straddles him, pressing him back into the couch. "Miss Weir, this is very inap-" She cuts off his protests at the source, pressing her lips to his. He doesn't even pretend to fight back, letting her have full run of his mouth.
"Please, professor," she says, leaning away from him so that she can pull her borrowed shirt off, "call me Liz."
The tie stays on; Radek decides it looks far, far better on her than it ever has on him, trailing down and contrasting sharply with the white lace of her bra. Radek just doesn't even know where to look- at the hungry look on her face, at the way her chest rises and falls with her heavy breaths, at the long column of her neck as she grinds her hips against him and throws her head back.
He brings his hands up as if to stave her off, maybe push her away, but she catches them instead, leading them up her stomach and onto her breasts. She puts her hands over his; he barely needs the encouragement, catching her nipples and pulling gently at them with his thumbs.
She leans away from him, dragging her fingers down and underneath her skirt. He doesn't need to see it to know what she's doing, but he stares anyway, watching how her arm flexes with it. It isn't a very long show, though, because she picks that moment to start sucking on his neck, finding out sensitive places with her teeth and tongue.
The back of her wrist keeps brushing against him, tortuously light touches that do nothing but get him agitated. "Miss Weir," he pants, not even sure what he's asking for. "Liz, please-"
She pulls back, looking down at him. She looks so amazing, so unlike herself, poised above him with her lips wet and swollen, her clothing half gone and half wrecked. She looks so uncharacteristically inelegant, almost feral, and Radek just really can't get enough of it.
"You're right, this is very inappropriate," she says, faking innocence even as she lifts her hand and brushes her damp fingers across his lips. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Let's not be too hasty," he replies quickly, before sucking her fingertips into his mouth.
She doesn't even waste the time in getting them undressed further; her clever fingers find the zipper of his slacks, yanking it down before reaching in and getting his cock free. She just pulls her underwear to one side and pushes down onto him; and god, every time he's inside her is as intense and perfect as the very first time, and he still feels totally amazed. More amazing still, she climaxes almost as soon as she's on him, shaking and gasping into his neck. He bites his lip and hangs on, because he doesn't figure she's done with him yet- and he certainly isn't ready for her to be.
True to form, she barely takes a breath to recover before she starts moving against him. She rides him hard, rolling her hips into his over and over again; he traces his hands up her legs, rucking her skirt up around her hips so that he can watch as she slides up and down on him. He can't really do much else- she's completely in control of this, taking him just exactly how she wants him, and she looks so good doing it that stopping her is the farthest thing from his mind. He focuses on more important things instead, like slipping a hand down in between them so that he can rub at her clit; he'd really love to do this all day, but if she keeps just going after him like she is he isn't going to last much longer at all.
She starts moving faster then, taking him hard and deep with every stroke of her hips; he knows she must be close, her movements erratic and frantic, but she still has the presence of mind to lean down and put her lips right against his ear.
"Come inside me, Professor Zelenka," she whispers, punctuating it with a bite to his earlobe. He's afraid he's going to knock her off the couch, as hard as he thrusts his hips up, but she just moves down to meet him; and in that perfect, improbable second, they're both coming, his head falling back against the couch, her mouth forming voiceless syllables at the ceiling.
They just cling to each other for a long while after that, until Radek- whether by design or clumsiness- tips them over so that they're laying down across the couch, Elizabeth's head against his chest.
"Thank god I never had any students like you," he says, stroking her hair. "I never would have left the university."
She snorts a little at that. "So, do I pass?"
He groans. "You can have tenure if you want. Or maybe you would like to be dean? Or take over the world? I would help."
"I already rule a world," she says flippantly. "I certainly don't need another one."
This is how he really likes to see her- boneless and sated and so unlike what everybody else knows her as. "That was what you wanted?" he asks anyway, because it isn't really about him.
"Oh, oh yes," she says, and he doesn't miss the way her cheeks pink slightly. "Definitely."
"Doesn't seem to be much of a fantasy if you have to do all the work."
She waves a hand in vaguely dismissive gesture. "We can do one of yours next time."
"How about the one with the gorgeous American diplomat and the little Czech engineer?" he says, kissing her temple. "It is my favorite."
She squirms against him, groaning low in her throat. "Not that little."
He laughs into her hair.
