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donnaimmaculata*makes a rare appearance*
I'm still alive, and I wrote fic. If anyone's at all interested: it's in the "Life on Mars" fandom, which I have only discovered about two weeks ago on account on not having been able to download the series before. I liked it, and I quite fancy Sam (big surprise there), and so I jumped on the chance to mess him about a bit. After all, the boy likes to suffer, doesn't he?
And, because I am sick inna head, I wrote him an incestuous relationship with his mother, to add to his other problems. (Also because I am quite in love with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elen_ancalima's beautiful icon *points* as well as the fact that there is a television series out there that has a sock puppet appear in the role of the protagonist's mother. Hence a mother!fic it had to be.)
Title: A resident stranger, as it seems
Fandom: Life on Mars
Author: Donna Immaculata
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3600
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Ruth
Warnings: Mother/son incest! Not graphic, though. Very, very tame, in fact.
Summary: Ruth is living on borrowed time.
A/N: John Simm said in an interview published under the BBC press releases: "At one point he meets his mum and she's beautiful and younger than him and he quite fancies her and she fancies him. She flirts with him and he flirts with her. That's got to mess with his head!"
- Why, yes. That's reason enough for me to mess with his and her head.
A resident stranger, as it seems
by Donna Immaculata
She wasn’t sure, in retrospect, how it had come to this. She trusted this strange man more than she trusted anybody else - more than she had ever trusted Vic, more than she trusted herself - and she had let him into her home and into her bed without so much as a pretence of decency.
He had sought her out. After Vic had disappeared, leaving her and Sammy alone, DI Tyler had appeared on her doorstep, and she had opened the door and let him in, just as she had let him in the first time, when he came to her as a police officer on duty.
He had come as a friend when he came the second time, and when she broke down and cried, he had pulled her in his arms and let her weep her fear and anger and pain away, holding her like she would hold little Sammy whenever he was upset. She didn't know who initiated the kiss, and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that there was suddenly warmth and skin and sweat, and his hands were so very gentle and he smelled so right. He smelled like home.
He never stayed for breakfast. There would be a knock at the door late at night and she would let him in, and more often than not he would be upset or shaky or bruised. "Nightmares", he told her when she commented on how pale and drawn he looked, and "had an altercation" when she asked about the nasty cut on his cheek. She helped him wash the wound and then took his hand and led him to her bed. He lay down beside her, and she cradled his head to her chest, like she cradled Sammy's when he was hurting.
He would leave before the break of dawn. He didn't want to upset Sammy, he said, who might not like a new man appear in the house only a short time after his father had left. He said it with so much authority that she felt all argument would be in vain. But even though he refused to meet Sammy, he would listen to her, encourage her to talk about her son, and sometimes he would give her advice that was so spot-on she couldn't but marvel at his intuition. "Are you sure you don't have children? You'd make an excellent father," she asked him one day, and he gave a short laugh and said: "I just remember vividly what it was like being a child. Those years seem not far gone." And then he sighed and rolled over and buried his head in the crook of her neck.
He made love to her. Sometimes it made her feel disgusted with herself, and sometimes it scared her, but it always, always made her feel good. It was wrong, and one day, she would pay for this. But it felt so right, the way his body was sliding against her, and so she closed her eyes and let it happen. No man had ever elicited such reactions from her before. Vic had been all charm and playfulness, and he had always been mindful not to hurt her, but nothing compared to the way Sam played her body so expertly. He would hold her almost reverently, and he used his tongue and his fingers to create sensations that shook her to the very core. And then, when she was trembling and - sometimes - sobbing, he would slide inside her, his eyes dark and intense.
He was intense where Vic had been teasing, and serious where Vic had been light-hearted, and she felt ashamed whenever she caught herself comparing him with her husband, marvelling at the way his body was thin but firm where Vic's body was thin but soft. He was nothing like Vic, but sometimes, there was something about his smile, the way he tilted his head, the way he draped one arm loosely around her in his sleep that reminded her of her husband. Those were the nights when she would get up, leaving him in her marriage-bed, and sneak over into Sammy's room, where she would spend the rest of the night sleeping curled around her son. Her son, who was missing his father more and more every day. He hardly ever asked about Vic anymore, but she could see the question shining from his brown eyes, sensed it in the tilt of his head, heard the unspoken words. Saw it in the way he would always steal a quick glance at the banister when he came home from playing outside.
She had to be strong for Sammy, who clung to her with the desperation of an abandoned child. But sometimes the strain would get too much, and then she clung to Sam with the desperation of an abandoned wife.
She knew he would leave eventually. He was nothing like Vic and everything like Vic. He had made her love him madly, just like Vic had done. And just like Vic, he would one day break her heart. She was only hoping that by that time Sammy would be old enough to offer the comfort she needed.
The End
On a different (though quite as sick) note:wildestranger made me read pre_raphaelite1's ficlet Pink Socks, and pre_raphaelite1, in turn, "inspired" me to write a Umbridge/Mrs Norris romance. Complete with purple prose and mentions of kitty!tongue.
Considering that the last fic I wrote was Tenth Doctor/Cat!Nun, a strange and worrying trend seems to evolve. I certainly will feel very dirty if the cat decides to spend the night on my stomach tonight and kneads my breasts into submission before going to sleep.
I'm still alive, and I wrote fic. If anyone's at all interested: it's in the "Life on Mars" fandom, which I have only discovered about two weeks ago on account on not having been able to download the series before. I liked it, and I quite fancy Sam (big surprise there), and so I jumped on the chance to mess him about a bit. After all, the boy likes to suffer, doesn't he?
And, because I am sick inna head, I wrote him an incestuous relationship with his mother, to add to his other problems. (Also because I am quite in love with
elen_ancalima's beautiful icon *points* as well as the fact that there is a television series out there that has a sock puppet appear in the role of the protagonist's mother. Hence a mother!fic it had to be.)Title: A resident stranger, as it seems
Fandom: Life on Mars
Author: Donna Immaculata
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3600
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Ruth
Warnings: Mother/son incest! Not graphic, though. Very, very tame, in fact.
Summary: Ruth is living on borrowed time.
A/N: John Simm said in an interview published under the BBC press releases: "At one point he meets his mum and she's beautiful and younger than him and he quite fancies her and she fancies him. She flirts with him and he flirts with her. That's got to mess with his head!"
- Why, yes. That's reason enough for me to mess with his and her head.
A resident stranger, as it seems
by Donna Immaculata
She wasn’t sure, in retrospect, how it had come to this. She trusted this strange man more than she trusted anybody else - more than she had ever trusted Vic, more than she trusted herself - and she had let him into her home and into her bed without so much as a pretence of decency.
He had sought her out. After Vic had disappeared, leaving her and Sammy alone, DI Tyler had appeared on her doorstep, and she had opened the door and let him in, just as she had let him in the first time, when he came to her as a police officer on duty.
He had come as a friend when he came the second time, and when she broke down and cried, he had pulled her in his arms and let her weep her fear and anger and pain away, holding her like she would hold little Sammy whenever he was upset. She didn't know who initiated the kiss, and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that there was suddenly warmth and skin and sweat, and his hands were so very gentle and he smelled so right. He smelled like home.
He never stayed for breakfast. There would be a knock at the door late at night and she would let him in, and more often than not he would be upset or shaky or bruised. "Nightmares", he told her when she commented on how pale and drawn he looked, and "had an altercation" when she asked about the nasty cut on his cheek. She helped him wash the wound and then took his hand and led him to her bed. He lay down beside her, and she cradled his head to her chest, like she cradled Sammy's when he was hurting.
He would leave before the break of dawn. He didn't want to upset Sammy, he said, who might not like a new man appear in the house only a short time after his father had left. He said it with so much authority that she felt all argument would be in vain. But even though he refused to meet Sammy, he would listen to her, encourage her to talk about her son, and sometimes he would give her advice that was so spot-on she couldn't but marvel at his intuition. "Are you sure you don't have children? You'd make an excellent father," she asked him one day, and he gave a short laugh and said: "I just remember vividly what it was like being a child. Those years seem not far gone." And then he sighed and rolled over and buried his head in the crook of her neck.
He made love to her. Sometimes it made her feel disgusted with herself, and sometimes it scared her, but it always, always made her feel good. It was wrong, and one day, she would pay for this. But it felt so right, the way his body was sliding against her, and so she closed her eyes and let it happen. No man had ever elicited such reactions from her before. Vic had been all charm and playfulness, and he had always been mindful not to hurt her, but nothing compared to the way Sam played her body so expertly. He would hold her almost reverently, and he used his tongue and his fingers to create sensations that shook her to the very core. And then, when she was trembling and - sometimes - sobbing, he would slide inside her, his eyes dark and intense.
He was intense where Vic had been teasing, and serious where Vic had been light-hearted, and she felt ashamed whenever she caught herself comparing him with her husband, marvelling at the way his body was thin but firm where Vic's body was thin but soft. He was nothing like Vic, but sometimes, there was something about his smile, the way he tilted his head, the way he draped one arm loosely around her in his sleep that reminded her of her husband. Those were the nights when she would get up, leaving him in her marriage-bed, and sneak over into Sammy's room, where she would spend the rest of the night sleeping curled around her son. Her son, who was missing his father more and more every day. He hardly ever asked about Vic anymore, but she could see the question shining from his brown eyes, sensed it in the tilt of his head, heard the unspoken words. Saw it in the way he would always steal a quick glance at the banister when he came home from playing outside.
She had to be strong for Sammy, who clung to her with the desperation of an abandoned child. But sometimes the strain would get too much, and then she clung to Sam with the desperation of an abandoned wife.
She knew he would leave eventually. He was nothing like Vic and everything like Vic. He had made her love him madly, just like Vic had done. And just like Vic, he would one day break her heart. She was only hoping that by that time Sammy would be old enough to offer the comfort she needed.
The End
On a different (though quite as sick) note:
wildestranger made me read pre_raphaelite1's ficlet Pink Socks, and pre_raphaelite1, in turn, "inspired" me to write a Umbridge/Mrs Norris romance. Complete with purple prose and mentions of kitty!tongue.Considering that the last fic I wrote was Tenth Doctor/Cat!Nun, a strange and worrying trend seems to evolve. I certainly will feel very dirty if the cat decides to spend the night on my stomach tonight and kneads my breasts into submission before going to sleep.
