Highway to Hell

The Ever-Cliched Secret Lover, Adult, Dawn/Weevil

2007-03-01T06:51:42Z

Know what happens when your computer dies and you have absolutely no money? You wait until the Feds send you your income tax refund and go to Best Buy to get the cheapest good computer you can afford. God, I've missed the internet! :)

I return with fanfic!

Title: The Ever-Cliched Secret Lover
Author: Lilac Beauty
Fandoms: BtVS/Veronica Mars
Pairing: Dawn Summers/Weevil Navarro
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Dawn, Rob Thomas owns Weevil. I'm just playing in their sandboxes, people. No money is gained from this.
Summary: Dawn has a secret.
Word Count: 674
50_smutlets Prompt: 028, Sound (or lack there of, in this case).
Feedback: Please! I'm new to this fanfic writing thing.

Notes: Takes place after Chosen and S2 of VM; AU and no spoilers. Also, I have no beta. If you'd like to be my beta, please email me at lilacbeauty27@aol.com. :)

She had to be quiet. They could not - could not - get caught like this. Because Buffy? Buffy had made it perfectly clear that she didn't even like Dawn even being very friendly to Eli Navarro. Even if he was one of the best field agents the Watchers Council had in the California area, he was still a bad boy. If they were caught together, hidden from sight in a dark room and latched on to each other like there would be no tomorrow, there was no way Dawn would ever see him again. At least not until May when she graduated from high school. But, the way his tongue continually traced poetry over her clit, the way his fingers twisted inside of her, Dawn was forced to bite her lip in effort not to make a sound.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she shuddered against his mouth and questing fingers, coming hard. "Eli," she whispered.

Then he was there, kissing her, his hands on her breasts, and she was almost positive she'd forgotten how to breathe. His fingers were still inside of her, still stroking gently, and she gasped as he pinched one of her nipples. "Want you, mi corazon. Need you."

She spread her legs a little wider as he slipped on a condom and positioned himself at her opening. Dawn felt him right there, and wanted desperately to arch her hips. . . wanted desperately for him to just be inside her already. "God, Eli, please!"

They were whispering, both of them afraid of getting caught. He might help keep the vampire and demon population down in Neptune, but he certainly wasn't someone she could bring home to momma. Or, sister, as the case might be. But none of that mattered when he finally slipped inside of her. None of it mattered when she felt herself contracting around him, pulling him in. They both groaned softly, and he leaned down to rain a trail of kisses along the line of her jaw. Fluid movements, hips jaunting repeatedly, moving them ever closer to completion, and he was talking. God, she loved it when he talked during sex. Sexy, sometimes forbidden words whispered in her ears; wicked promises she knew he'd never forget, and she shivered as his breath played upon her ear.

"Gonna make you cum again. Make you cum with my cock inside you. Make you feel so good you almost bite through that pretty lip of yours to keep from screaming."

He thrust faster, harder, and Dawn's fingers dug into his back, seeking out even more contact. "Yes, yes, God, Eli, yes."

"I'm gonna take you away from here. Soon, querida, we're gonna blow this joint. Take off down the coast on my bike," his breath hitched then as she thrust her hips up a little harder to meet his. "Like that idea, don't you? Having it be just the two of us for a change? Like the idea of me taking you on a bed away from all these fucking ears. Like the idea of screaming for me."

Dawn moaned then, a little too loud, and he quieted her with a kiss. "Soon, querida, soon."

They lost themselves then to the rhythm of their lovemaking, to the way their bodies felt as they moved together. So good. So very good. It became a mantra inside Dawn's head, and the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was thinking as well. He loved her. Told her in quiet Spanish words during their stolen moments together, told her with the filthy things he muttered while he fucked her up against a wall in a forgotten closet. This was right, the two of them, and it didn't matter what anyone else thought. She loved him for his mind, his talent, and for loving her back. She just loved him. One day. . . yes, one day, she'd tell her sister that. And Buffy? Well, she'd just have to deal with it.

-LB-

Fic: Study Break // BtVS x Supernatural // Dawn/Dean // FR21

2006-12-07T23:11:43Z

Title: Study Break
Author: Lilac Beauty
Fandoms: BtVS/Supernatural
Characters: Dawn Summers/Dean Winchester
Rating: FR21
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, et al owns BtVS and Eric Kripke, et al owns Supernatural. No monetary gain is made from this story.
Summary: Dawn's in college, Dean's trolling clubs looking for a hook-up. This is what happens when the two of them collide.
Prompt: Written for 50_smutlets prompt #34, Biting.
Word Count: 1,133
Feedback would be very nice.

Prompt Table: Here.

Notes: I have no beta. Anyone interested in filling that role please email me. Lilac Beauty27 {at} aol {dot} com.

Flirting at the bar, liquid courage tasting like candy and making her bold had helped get them here. Dancing on the crowded floor, sweat-slicked hands and heated gazes mixing with the promises their bodies made helped things along, too. Dawn had known all along where they'd end up, knew she'd end up going home with him. Home had turned out to be a dingy hotel room, but she'd still welcomed it. Needed it. Needed him. Relief, distraction, however she wanted to look at it, it all came down to one thing: finals were stressful as hell, and this man was all kinds of hot.

He was older than her, sure, but what did that really matter? Using protection was a given; not using it hadn't even been a question. He'd had a condom in his pocket, one he placed on the bedside table before they really got started, and she was pretty sure that meant he was used to this sort of interaction. She wasn't. Dawn had never done this sort of thing before in her life. . . but she thought she might be able to get used to it, the occasional rough romp to make her feel nothing but pleasure for a while. No strings attached, no expectations, just pleasure.

And, God, did it feel good, the things he did to her. Lips and tongue and fingers, and yespleasedon'tstop. She bucked against him, his hands firm on her hips to keep her from pushing him away too far, and she cried out his name when she came. "Dean!"

She was trembling now, and he hadn't stopped touching her yet. He eased her back down to earth with soft fingertips and sweet, dirty promises falling from his lips. His fingers stroked her gently as he kissed his way back up her body. Her head fell back against the pillow when he began to play with her breasts, and her eyelids fluttered a little when he finally brushed a kiss across her lips. "You still with me?"

"Uh huh."

"Like that?"

She grinned, her eyes still closed. "You have to ask?"

He chuckled and thrust his hips against hers, letting her feel how hard he was. Dawn's eyes snapped open, the haze of her orgasm fading only to leave her with more need. She ran a hand over his back. He had a few more scars than most of the men she'd been with but she had her own, and that was reason enough not to comment about his. Her fingers traced down his spine, their eyes locking once more, and she shifted her hips. He groaned when his cock came into contact with her wetness for a brief moment, and neither one of them hesitated to move enough for him to retrieve the condom.

Dawn pushed his hand away before he could put it on, and kissed him. "Let me?"

He groaned again, but nodded, and she smiled when he shuddered a little as she did it. He kissed her when he lowered her back down onto the bed, cradling her head as he pressed her into the pillow. He reached between them and dragged his cock over her pussy, and they both moaned. She needed this, needed more, needed him, and there was no going back now.

"Dean," she murmured softly against his lips when she felt the head of his cock at her entrance, "Just fuck me already!"

He grinned, the curve of his lips pressing into hers. "Brace yourself, baby. Here we go."

She almost rolled her eyes at that, and would have, if he hadn't thrust into her at that exact moment, and barely stopped at all to let her adjust to his size. It was almost too much, almost too good, and she never wanted it to stop. He swallowed her moans as her eyes rolled back. He filled her like no lover before him had, and she knew she had to have more.

More, more, more, more.

He just chuckled, and it was then she realized she'd been saying that out loud. There was no time to be embarrassed, though, no time to think about anything but his fingers on her clit and his cock thrusting in and out of her pussy, or her hips thrusting up to meet his. She gripped the sides of his face and pulled his lips to hers, their tongues moving against each other in time with their bodies.

It was hard and fast and just a little bit rough. Dawn wrapped her legs around him as he moved, and then. . . then he was a little deeper than before and everything was right with the world. "God, so good," she breathed harshly.

"Gonna cum for me again, baby?" His voice was rough.

Unable even to remember how to speak, she just nodded against his neck as he thrust a little faster, a little harder. His fingers danced over her clit, and her breath became more ragged. She was whimpering now, teetering on the edge of bliss, and she thought she might give up anything in the world just to finally fall. He bit her neck then, the sharp pain making the edges of her senses blur for a moment. And, that was it. That was all it took. Dawn's entire body stilled before shuddering violently and she screamed out her pleasure.

"Oh, yeah, that's it. . . come on, yeah," he encouraged, "come apart for me."

She felt his thrusts become more erratic, felt him holding her closer, and knew she'd have a few bruises in the morning. He came with a hoarse cry, and she thought it might have been her name on his lips when he did. Wishful thinking on her part probably, but then he was peppering kisses over her face, along the line of her jaw, so she didn't let it bother her too much that she was likely just another fuck to him. Sweet afterglow made up for a whole lot in her opinion.

"You all right?"

She nodded and turned her face toward his. "Perfect."

He smiled down at her before shifting his hips and pulling his body from hers. "Don't move, okay?"

She didn't think she'd be able to even if she tried, so she just nodded again as he went to dispose of the condom. He was back a minute or two later, slipping into bed with her and pulling a blanket over them. "Stay awhile?"

"Hmm," she snuggled back against him as his arms settled around her. "For a little bit."

She wouldn't let herself stay until morning. She knew that. Avoiding an uncomfortable, awkward morning after was something she wanted to avoid at all costs. But snuggling for a while. . . that seemed like a wonderful idea.

-LB-

A Little About Me

2006-12-07T20:22:54Z

I decided that, even though I set up this journal as a place for me to post my fanfiction, it might be nice to have a little personal information up just in case someone decides to friend me. Now, where to start?

Basics, I guess.

I am: Bohemian, flighty, in love, artsy, happy. And so much more.

I love: Writing, music (all kinds of music, but I have a real yen for classic rock), reading, tea, wine, making my own clothes, photography.

I'm not comfortable giving out my real name, so we'll just call me Lilac for now. I'm originally from Chicago, IL, I graduated from Bradley University in Peoria, and I'm 27 years old. I have no children, I am not married (though I do live with my "boyfriend" and have for 4 years now). He's an artist, I'm a writer, and we both work at what most would refer to as dead-end jobs to stay afloat in this overpriced world of ours. I'm currently working at a coffee shop. Not Starbucks, though. They're evil. And he works at a paint store. Honest living, I guess, but believe me when I say I'd rather sit around and write. Or listen to music. Or just be still. Bills are bills, however, and we've got to pay them. Else they come looking for ya. :) (We're living in Chicago right now, too.)

As for my writing. I write what I'm inspired to write. I prefer my original stuff, naturally, but fanfiction has a certain appeal as well. I've found that, when I'm blocked on my own stuff, I can go play around with other people's characters (or other people, in the case of "real people fic") for a while and unblock myself. To speak of fandom, to ask me what I'm interested in, is a difficult question to answer. In short? Everything. Slightly not so short? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Angel. Supernatural. Veronica Mars. And I've recently become slightly addicted to Jericho. I'm sure there are others, but I'm not in the frame of mind currently to think of them.

I do, however, write erotica. I very rarely ever write anything that is not erotica. I am not ashamed of that fact, nor do I wish to change it. We are all who we are. No social taboos should force us to be something we are not.

Friend me if you wish. I will friend you back if I wish. Simple as that.

And with that I will leave you.

50_smutlets prompt table

2006-11-24T05:35:43Z

I've claimed Dawn Summers crossovers at 50_smutlets. The prompt table is below the cut.

001. Day	002. Night	003. Love	004. Lust	005. Rough
006. Gentle	007. Beach	008. School	009. Cemetery	010. Woods
011. Bathroom	012. Bedroom	013. Kitchen	014. Submissive	015. Flying
016. Magic	017. Costumes	018. Paddle	019. Restraints	020. Leather
021. Banana	022. Whipped Cream	023. Oral	024. Voyeurism	025. Erotica
026. On Camera	027. Sight	028. Sound	029. Touch	030. Taste
031. Feel	032. Fingers	033. Lips	034. Biting	035. Phone
036. Computer	037. Fantasy	038. Shower	039. Washing	040. Swimming
041. Spanking	042. Music	043. Toys	044. In Drag	045. Thigh Highs
046. Massage Oil	047. Silk Sheets	048. Chocolate	049. Candles	050. Writer's Choice

RPS: Surreal Desire, James Marsters/OFC, NC-17 eventually, 2/?

2006-11-14T04:45:24Z

Part One

I drove past the bar that had provided such wonderful distraction and relaxation two days ago as I headed back to the hotel. I almost stopped, and now, waiting for the elevator to come, I wish I had. Today was horribly long. The business meetings I had to sit through were some of the most boring, long, and horrid of my entire career. If I had stopped at the bar, at least I could have had a couple of beers before coming back here to watch tv. The doors in front of me finally open and I step inside, punching my floor. I hear someone yell to hold the doors and automatically punch the button to do so. My eyes widen as he walks onto the lift.

"Thanks," he says, a bit breathless.

"No problem," I murmur, causing him to look up.

"Veronica ... Ronnie, right?"

"You remember?"

"It was just two days ago," he said, grinning.

I smile. "Right. Hi, Jim."

"Hey," he says. "You're here on business, aren't you?"

I glance down at my pinstriped skirt set and barely resist the urge to giggle. "Whatever gave me away?"

"Well," he says, not missing a beat, "the briefcase is a dead giveaway, though the outfit doesn't hurt."

I smile. "I came to negotiate a deal for my boss. He's in advertising ... it's been a really boring trip."

"All of it?"

I grin. "Well, there was this bar I went to a couple of days ago that provided a nice break from the boredom."

The elevator dings, alerting me to the fact that we've reached my floor and I watch as the doors open. "This is me."

He holds the doors open as I start to walk out, and I hold his eyes as I walk by. God, he really is handsome. He licks his lips and suddenly asks, "Do you have plans for dinner?"

I blink. "Um ... I had thought about ordering a pizza."

"What kind?"

"Supreme with extra sauce and cheese. Possibly some hot wings."

"And beer?"

"Of course! It should be illegal for adults to eat pizza without beer."

His free hand closes around my wrist and I allow him to pull me back into the elevator. "We'll order from my room."

"Will we?"

"Yep," he says confidently. "And we'll watch a movie, or possibly listen to some music. I'll let you pick."

I can't help it. I giggle. "So sure I'll say yes?"

"No wedding ring," he says, brushing his hand across the ring finger of my left hand. "Boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment," I answer.

"Girlfriend?"

"Nah. She and I broke up last week."

He laughs then and says, "We're ordering the hot wings, too."

"Okay," I say as the elevator starts to move once more.

How in the hell did I end up here? It feels like a dream, and I can barely refrain myself from reaching over and pinching my arm. I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath, and suddenly realize that I don't care. I don't care how I ended up lucking in to seeing James Marsters perform a random set of new music at a bar I happened into. I don't care how, two days later, I managed to end up in the hotel elevator with him, and have somehow -- somehow -- ended up with an invitation to his room for dinner. I just really don't care. And if it is a dream ... I damn sure don't want to wake up. This kind of stuff has never happened to me before. Why should I run the risk of fucking it up by analyzing it? I do believe that I would much rather just sit back and enjoy it. It is with that attitude in mind that I smile and follow him off the lift.

He smiles at me as he slips the keycard into the lock. "Not to sound cliche, but how was your day?"

I shrug as we walk into his room. "Well, I sat in the same chair for five hours, trying not to fall asleep, while a room full of people I barely know talked about quarterly profit returns and the benefits of doing business with my boss. All in all? It was really boring. How 'bout you? Good day, bad day?"

Closing and locking the door, he says, "I read scripts most of the day ... then I had an over-the-phone meeting with my manager."

"So, a pretty good day, then?"

"Yeah, I'd say that. A couple of the scripts sucked though."

"I would imagine," I ponder aloud, "that scripts are like people, in a way. I mean, you know how you form opinions of a person right away, no matter how hard you try to stay open-minded? It seems to me that a script would be like that: if you don't like the first line or two, you automatically set yourself up to not like the rest."

He blinks at me, then asks with a smile, "You a closet actress?"

I grin. "No, but I do like to read. And sometimes. . ."

"Sometimes a book isn't worth reading past the first few sentences," he finishes.

"Exactly."

It's only then that I look around his room. I feel my eyes widen and there's nothing I can do to stop it. "Wow."

"What?"

I look around, blatantly staring; this is not a room . . . it's a suite. And a nice one at that. "Your room is so much more decadent than mine."

"One of the perks," he says softly.

"It's nice. I'll have to wrangle my boss into reserving one like it for me the next time he forces one of these trips on me."

James lets out a bark of laughter then. "Have a seat somewhere and I'll get us some drinks. Beer? Soda? I think there's even wine if you'd like some."

I sit down on the sofa and tell him I'd like a coke. I figure that, if we really do end up with pizza and beer, the beer will be more than enough to relax me. If I start early . . . no, I so do not want to get drunk. I'll be enough of an embarrassment, I'm sure of it, without the assistance of alcohol.

I smile when he sits down next to me and hands me my soda. The thought crosses my mind fleetingly that 'Oh my God, I'm in James Marsters' hotel room,' but I push it aside as I wonder for a second if this is the point when things will get awkward. But then he smiles back, and lo and behold . . . conversation starts. Real conversation, too. You know, the 'so tell me about yourself' kind of stuff.

We did order pizza. And hotwings. And drank beer. At some point, I took off my shoes. We never got around to watching that movie, but James did put on some music, though I can't for the life of me remember when. We've completely lost ourselves in talking. Our lives, current events, the roles he's played, my job; we've discussed what feels like every thing. He's been holding my hand for an hour, his thumb lazily tracing along the lines of my palm as we talk. I can't help but notice how close we're sitting now. Much closer than we started out. There's just one problem. It's late now, nearing midnight, and I've got an early day. I curse the fact that I'm not here on vacation for about the millionth time in my head, but I know there's no avoiding it: I've really got to go back to my room sometime soon so I can get some sleep. Apparently, he's thinking something along those lines as well.

"You have to work tomorrow," he says suddenly, quietly. It's not a question.

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

"When do you leave town, Ronnie?"

Swallowing the last of the beer in my hand, I meet his eyes. "I check out Saturday morning."

"So just one more night, after tonight."

"Yeah."

And then, I think, it's back to real life and away from this . . . dream-like experience I'm currently living. I'm no where near surprised that the very thought of leaving depresses me a little; my time here has been incredible, despite the boring work I've been forced to sit through. He stands then and holds out his hand. I let him pull me off the sofa and slip back into my heels, placing my hands on his shoulders for support as I do. "Tonight was fun," I say, my voice rather soft.

He licks his lips. "Yes, it was. Conversation, actual conversation, is sometimes very hard to come by in my line of work. And. . ."

I tilt my head to the side as his voice trails off. "And?"

His hands run down my arms then, and I shiver. "And, if I'm honest, I'll admit to being very attracted to you."

I blink, not quite knowing what to say. I mean, really, what do you say to that? I've never been good at accepting compliments, ever. They make me uncomfortable in a way I can't explain. And having someone say they're attracted to you? That is one hell of a compliment, even if they're not specific as to why they find you attractive. So, instead of saying anything, I lick my lips and press them gently to his. Briefly. Oh, so very briefly. And then I pull back. "Have dinner with me again tomorrow night?"

He nods without hesitation. "Here. Seven thirty."

"I'll bring dessert."

I know, know, that if I don't leave right now I will make a total fool of myself. "I had a really good time tonight, Jim. Sleep well, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He says my name as I turn and walk towards the door, but I can't look back. I can't. I'll stay if I see the slightest hint of desire in his eyes, if he'll have me, and I don't want to be one of those girls. But then he's there, behind me, my name on his lips, and I'm turning. His eyes, God, he has beautiful eyes. I swallow hard. I could get lost in those eyes.

"Ronnie."

"James, I . . ."

And he's kissing me, really kissing me. His hands are around my waist, holding me to him, and I put my arms around his neck automatically. His tongue teases my lips, prompting me to open up to him. His arms tighten around me as I do, as I slip my own tongue out to meet his, and I know then that it's not just his eyes that I could lose myself in. His lips are moving against mine, with mine, and I know it's me I hear moaning softly. I don't know how or when my back ended up against the door, but he's pressing me against it, against him, and I just can't make myself care about how I got into the position.

We're both breathless when we finally break the kiss, and he pulls me to him. I can feel his arousal, can feel my own tingling along my skin, and I don't trust myself to speak just yet. If I did, I'm very afraid I'd ask him which way the bedroom was. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe deeply, willing myself to calm down.

"As much as I'd like to know what you've got on under this prim little business suit, you were leaving for a reason . . . right?"

I sigh softly. "I don't want to make this too easy for you."

"But you will admit there is something to, um, make easy?"

I smile at that, at the slight uncertainty in his voice. "Just looking at the practical side of things, if I was to stay, we'd likely be up for at least another couple of hours. Combine that with the beer and my natural need for a lot of sleep, and well, I'd be shit tomorrow."

"Today."

"Whatever."

His hand lifts my face to his, and he kisses me again softly. "Seven thirty?"

"You like chocolate?" I murmur against his lips.

"Uh huh."

I run my tongue along his lips teasingly. "Good."

The kiss that follows almost makes me reconsider our new agreement that nothing can happen tonight, but the beep of his watch signaling that it is now one am snaps me out of my lust induced daze. I pull out of the kiss and hold his gaze. "Promise you're not going to leave sometime today . . . because if I walk out of this room and find out later that you've gone and disappeared on me, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life wondering about 'what could have been'."

He grins. "I'm not going anywhere."

And with that, he walks me to the door and we say goodnight. Later, in my own bed, I can't help but smile. He's a really great kisser.

tbc

RPH: Surreal Desire // James Marsters/OFC // NC-17, eventually, 1/?

2006-11-12T17:19:48Z

Title: Surreal Desire
Author: Lilac Beauty
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is real-people fic. I do not own James Marsters, and this is a work of my imagination. This is purely fictional!
Distribution: AFF only.

Author's Note: This is only the beginning, more will follow soon.

The weather in Northern California is still rather cool at night -- even in July -- and it's the first thing I think of when I step out of the hotel lobby. I glance back at the doors for a second, wondering if I should head back up to the room for a jacket, and then frown; I'm not even sure I brought a jacket with me. How was I supposed to know it wouldn't be as hot here as it is at home? I ignore the nagging little voice in the back of my mind that points out that I could have checked the weather channel at any time, and shake myself out of my thoughts as I walk toward the parking garage.

The desk clerk gave me directions to a night club, and made sure to tell me that it was the only place worth going in the entire town. That comment alone makes me wonder if I shouldn't just find a bar somewhere. I want to get a drink, maybe dance a little bit. I so do not want to be hit on by a room full of drunk kids ... and judging by the age of the desk clerk, that's what I'd get. Kids. I unlock my car door and slip inside, fastening my seat belt even as I start the engine. Today was absolutely horrid. This trip is turning into the business trip from hell. There is really nothing I want more in the world than a cold beer and some good music.

Part of me still can't believe that I let my boss talk me into coming on this trip. The investors don't want to talk to me, I'm just his fucking assistant. They want to talk to him. But he, the big baby, didn't want to come because it would be boring. The asshat. I pull out of the parking garage and start to drive, finally deciding to ignore the desk clerks suggestion and find a place all on my own. I don't have to look long. There, at the end of one of the first streets I drive down, is a bar. A perfect, nondescript, plain old bar. It looks like heaven to me. I pull into an empty parking space and get out of my car, locking the doors out of habit.

For once I'm glad I decided to leave my purse back at the hotel, setting instead for stuffing money and personal effects into my pockets. Having to lug around a bag when all I want to do is relax would have been annoying. There isn't a doorman and I have to smile. No door man equals no cover charge, and that just totally rocks. I think I picked the right place. I open the door and, as a wave of heavy smoke hits me, I know I've picked the right place. Walking over to the bar, I sit down and smile at the bartender. "Can I get a Corona, please? With a lime, if you've got one."

He looks me up and down and I arch an eyebrow. He just smirks and says, "ID."

My eyes widen. He's actually carding me? "No shit?"

"You got one?"

"Of course, but ... no one's carded me in ... hell, years," I say as I pull the piece of plastic from the back pocket of my jeans.

I hand it over and he examines it, hands it back, and moves to get my beer. And, I notice, a bowl full of limes. "You don't look a day over 21," he says, handing me my order.

I grin at him, and he returns it as I turn to find a table. The bar is crowded, but not overtly so. There's room to breathe. I head to an empty two-seater and pull out the chair, glancing around as I do. 'I'm freaking surrounded by couples. What is this? Date Capital, USA?' I think as I notice all the hand holding and googly eyes going on around me. Rolling my own eyes, I settle in and take a swig of the beer, sighing as the first twinges of relaxation take over. The music stops, causing me to look up, and I see the bartender taking to the stage I hadn't noticed before. Interesting.

"I've got an announcement to make," he says into the microphone, and the people around me stop talking. The man gestures to a table beside the stage and I follow his hand, my eyes widening. "Jim here wants me to ask you all if you'd mind him testing out some new material on us."

The cheer that went up from the crowd then made the man smile and he nodded to 'Jim' ... and I can't stop staring at who he is. It's James bloody Marsters. He's up on the stage, guitar in hand, before I remember that oxygen really is a vital part of living, and force myself to take a breath. I can't wrap my mind around it, though. I pick a bar at random to come in and unwind, and James Marsters just happens to be there and wants to test out new music material? That kind of stuff never happens to me! That's the kind of stuff I only dream about. But ... unless I'm dreaming now, he's right up there. And he's about to sing. Oh holy fuck, this is turning out to be a great night!

"This isn't a new song, but it's something to start us off," he says into the microphone, and I can't help but grin as he smiles. He has a very nice smile. He strums his guitar a few times, and then starts to sing, and I have to admit, he's better than I remember him being in Buffy's musical episode.

"I don't mean to sound mean
When I talk about the day
I believed every single
Words she said
But things change like she changed
Something's not the same
Found the things she said and do
Were never true."

I don't know how long he played; I think I slipped into some sort of 'music by James' induced coma. He's mesmerizing. Really, he is. The cheekbones alone . . . he's handsome beyond belief and, while I knew it before, hearing him sing Goodnight Sweet Girl live and acoustic has driven that point home a dozen times over. His set is over before I know it, and I sigh as he walks off the stage to thunderous applause. I watch as he's swarmed by locals looking to shake his hand, and wonder if, just maybe, I could work up enough nerve to go over, say hi, and thank him for the show. I drain the beer in my hands and sigh again, knowing that I would likely blush the color of my hair if he so much as looked at me.

Pushing away from the table, I walk over to the bar. "Hey," I say to get the bartenders attention. "I'm gonna step outside for a few minutes. Didn't want you to think I was leaving without paying my tab."

He smiled, nodded, and said, "You can smoke in here, ya know."

I nod. "Yeah, but sometimes you just need some air."

I hear his chuckle following me out, and can't help but wonder if he doesn't know exactly what I mean. Sometimes, no matter how good of a night you're having, you have to step back and take a breath. Otherwise, well, in my case, I'd be liable to turn into one of those screaming fangirls Mr. Marsters has to deal with in everyday life. And do I want to do that? Hell no.

I lean against my car and pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light up, taking a deep drag. The beer had done wonders at relaxing me, but it is now, breathing in the smoke and nicotine, that I feel my body give in and fully relax. I take another drag and roll my shoulders, loosening the tension the day built up inside of me. It's only then that I hear someone clear their throat. Looking up, my eyes widen as I see who it is.

"Hi," I say automatically, surprising myself.

"Hi," he responds. "Got a light?"

Nodding, I toss him my lighter, even as my inner fangirl shrieks at the idea of James Marsters using my pink plastic bic to light up. Feeling the need to say something -- anything -- I tell him, "Your set was good, really good. Goodnight Sweet Girl has always been one of my favorite Doors songs."

He smiles when he hands me back my lighter. "You're a Morrison fan, then?"

"There are people who aren't?" I counter with a smile of my own.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "You'd be surprised," he says as he takes a quick drag. "Most of the people I play for think I wrote the song."

I arch an eyebrow. "And I'm sure those same people think that the version of Wild Horses that played during Buffy's prom was the original, too. Ah, fuck, I just outted myself as a Buffy fan, didn't I?"

He out and out laughs then, and just know I'm blushing. I gaze at him, and can't help but smile back at him. Having that smile turned straight on to me is a bit . . . overwhelming. He holds my eyes. "Well, if it makes you feel better, the fact that you haven't called me Spike even once works well in your favor."

Holding out his hand, he continues, "I'm Jim."

"Ronnie," I say, shaking his hand.

"Short for Veronica?"

I grin. "Yeah, but only my grandma gets to call me that."

"Nice to meet you, Ronnie."

"You, too," I say softly.

I take the last drag possible on my cigarette and suddenly wish I was a chain smoker. I drop the butt as I exhale, and crush it with the toe of my shoe. "I really did enjoy the set."

"Thanks," he said. "For the light, too."

"Anytime," I respond, before smiling at him once more before heading back inside.

I've reached my limit on beer, knowing that if I drink another one I won't be able to drive back to the hotel. Or, more realistically, I shouldn't drive back to the hotel. Heading up to the bar, I pull up a stool and sit down. The bartender comes over after a minute and I smile as he asks me if I want another Corona. "Nah," I say. "I'm driving. But, if you don't mind, I'd like a business card. Between my boss and I, we'll be coming up here pretty often over the next couple of months. I'd like to be able to tell him how to find you guys."

Offering him more business gave us something to talk about as I settled my bill, and I left the bar thinking that it had been, truly, a very enjoyable evening. If a bit surreal.

/part one

RPH: Island Fantasy // Michelle Trachtenberg/James Marsters // NC-17

2006-11-12T17:15:54Z

Title: Island Fantasy
Author: Lilac Beauty
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As much as I would absolutely love to lay claim to James Marsters, he is not mine. Likewise, I do not hold any claim or connection to Michelle Trachtenberg. This is a FICTIONAL story and should not be taken seriously. I mean no harm in writing this . . . it's merely an extension of my overactive (and rather freaky) imagination.
Feedback: Yes, Please!

Further notes: Jim and Michie are reportedly the actors' real nicknames. Michelle is 19 in this story.

@@@

It was not so much that he had not seen her since they wrapped up the show, it was simply that he had only seen her in the movies and magazine spreads she had done. They had simply not crossed paths since Buffy had been canceled and, now that he was seeing her in the flesh, he couldn't help but think that the photographs he had been seeing of her lately really had not done justice to the beauty she had become. Oh, she had always been pretty; wavy brown hair, slim waist, with curves beginning to form in all the right places. But now . . . now she had come into her own, and she was downright gorgeous.

And to run in to her here, of all places -- James had to admit that it was pretty good luck. This was a small, out of the way club on a very small island in the Bahamas. Not too many chances for a photographer to catch them talking here. Hell, he told himself, if the press managed to get past the door, the security, maybe they deserved all the pictures they could snap before getting caught. He watched her dance with what seemed like half the club before she finally moved back to her table to sit down. He flagged down his waitress, ordered another beer, and arranged to have a refill sent over to her table before getting up and walking over. "This seat taken?" he asked softly.

She looked up, her blue eyes wide, and smiled brightly. "Jim!"

"Hey Michie," he smiled back, hugging her tight as she rose from her chair and put her arms around him. "How ya doing?"

"I'm good," she answered as they sat down. "How about you?"

"Same. Busy. What brings you to this hole in the world?"

"Vacation. I told my manager I wanted to go somewhere with a nice beach and not a lot of press. This is the result. You?"

He smiled again as the waitress brought over their drinks and set them down. "Almost the same; I have a couple gigs lined up around the island while I'm here, but for the most part, this is a vacation."

"Still doing the music thing, then?" she asked as she brought her drink to her lips. "I thought I heard something about you having a new cd come out."

"Yeah, just me, no band. What about you? Any big projects lined up?"

"Not for a while, but I've got a few things this fall. It's been so long since I had any time in the summer to relax, I thought it might be fun to try it out."

"Relaxing?"

"Yeah," she grinned.

"How do you like it so far?"

"No complaints. This island really is great."

He couldn't help but agree with her as he pulled on his beer, swallowing quickly. She looked happy, relaxed, and he was already glad they'd run into each other. She swayed easily in her chair as a new song came on, and James smiled. "You want to go dance some more, don't you?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Pretty much."

She looked at him, licked her lips, and he was really not all that surprised when she stood up and held out her hand. "Well, come on, then."

"Oh, you expect me to dance, do you?"

"Uh huh," she said, tugging him out of his chair and toward the floor.

He didn't protest too much, and pulled her into his arms when they reached an empty spot on the floor. The song wasn't too fast, wasn't too slow, and he soon found himself getting lost in the rhythm of the music. Soon another song was playing and he found himself with another partner but, truth be told, he didn't really mind. This night was about having fun, relaxing. Two songs later, this one a slower, more sensual song, he found Michelle back in front of him. This was not the sort of song he would normally consider dancing with her to, but as she stood in front of him, her eyes wide, he found himself moving in and pulling her closer. She licked her lips and met his eyes as they started to move, the throbbing bass-line of the song leading them. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer, and her hands traveled over his back.

He wasn't sure when, or how, she ended up with her back to him, grinding easily back against him, but he damn sure didn't want her to stop once she was there. His hands on her hips, pulling her back against him, he wondered if she knew what she was doing. Wondered if she knew that grinding her ass against him like that would lead them to one place, and one place only. He was a man, after all; he would get turned on if she kept doing it. "Michelle," he whispered in her ear, the one word effectively bringing them both out of the fog the song seemed to have settled around them.

She turned, her lips parted, and he could see the confusion in her eyes. Not giving her the chance to pull away, James' hands found their way back to her hips and he pulled her close once more. "Just wanted to see your eyes."

Smiling then, she leaned in further and, as the song played out, they finished the dance staring into each other's eyes. "You need a smoke break?" she asked softly, as he led her from the dance floor.

He nodded, and without another word, the two of them headed outside, to the private parking lot behind the club. If nothing else, he decided, he most certainly needed a bit of air after that . . . very nice dance. Once they were outside, he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one out of habit. He exhaled slowly as she leaned up against the wall of the building, and looked at him. "Why did you . . . um, never mind."

"Why did I what?" he asked, even though he knew what it was she was asking. Or, at least he thought he did. It was the same thing he had on his mind. "Why did I distract you in there? While we were dancing?"

She blushed prettily. "Yeah."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

Crushing the cigarette under his shoe, he closed the distance between them and pinned her against the wall with his arms. "You are a very good dancer, Michie, and I am a mere mortal."

Her eyes wide, she managed to smile. "I was . . . I was what? Turning you on? Me?"

"You say that like it's an impossible thing."

"Isn't it?"

He leaned in a little closer then, looked her right in the eyes, and said plainly, "No, it's not." Her mouth formed in a small, tight 'o' of surprise, and he grinned. "Is that a problem?"

She blinked. "Is what a problem? That I can . . . do that?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"N-no. At least, I don't think it is."

"Good," he said softly. "Good. Because I want to dance with you some more."

He had every intention of pulling her back in the club, of dancing until they were both sweaty and too tired to think. She, however, seemed to have something else in mind. She pushed away from the wall, bringing her body into contact with his, and said, "So dance."

"Out here?"

"You can hear the music, can't you?"

He closed his eyes, listened, and sure enough, he could. There was music filtering outside from the club, and he wondered why he had not noticed it before. Looking at her once more, he smiled. "Nice song."

"Uh huh," she answered as they started to sway in time to he beat. The song was, if he was not mistaken, by Portishead. Glory Box, he thought idly as he watched her eyes drift closed. His hands drifted down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hips, and she moved ever so closer as the music pulled them in.

She wasn't grinding against him this time. No, this time it was much more than that. Their bodies pressed against each other, one of her thighs between his, they moved to the music freely, neither one of them worried that they might be seen. They knew the parking lot was truly private. The club's security would have it no other way. The song ended, another one began, and it was his eyes drifting closed this time as she dragged her thigh out from between his, brushing his cock with her knee.

There had been, he decided, enough dancing. If she didn't know what was going on . . . he stopped that train of thought. She had to know what was going on. She just had to. And, as he pushed up gently back to the wall, he could see in her eyes that she did understand.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured a second before his lips crashed down upon hers. She responded eagerly to the kiss, wrapping her arms around him, and he groaned softly as her tongue slipped out to meet his.

He tightened the grip he had on her hips when she bucked against him naturally, and broke the kiss to look into her eyes. "Michelle," he said softly.

"Don't," she said. "Don't tell me this is wrong because you've known me since I was a kid. Don't tell me you want to stop just because of the age difference."

Pulling her flush up against him, he ground his erection into her hip even as his lips claimed hers again. He had no intention of stopping, unless she told him to. She moaned as his hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, trailing across the bare skin of her back, and they were both breathless when they broke apart this time. "All I was going to ask was which room you wanted to go back to. Mine or yours?"

She blinked. "Yours," she answered quickly.

"You have a car or a driver?"

"A rental car, but ... it'll be safe here, if you promise to bring me back for it later."

He just nodded and pulled her toward his motorcycle. He handed her the extra helmet before they got on, and then straddled the bike with her soon following. She didn't hesitate, just wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him as he started the bike and began driving. Her hands drifted over his torso as they drove, her fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt or drifting up and down his side. He tried to force himself to focus on driving, on getting them back to the condo he'd rented without incident, but that became very difficult as her hands started to drift lower. He groaned and pushed back against her slightly as she cupped him through his jeans, and couldn't stop himself from speeding up ever so slightly, eager to get her back into his arms.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of his rental property, he parked quickly and whisked her off the bike as quickly as possible. Pushing her up against the wall of the garage, he kissed her hard. "Little tease."

"Not for long," she said, kissing him back.

It did not take long at all to get into the house, but they didn't quite make it to the bedroom. The couch was closer, and too inviting to pass up. She was laying on her back, gazing up at him, and he licked his lips. "Want you," he said as she trailed a hand across his stomach.

"Good," she murmured, leaning up, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt, revealing his skin.

She pushed him back against the couch and straddled him, leaning down to kiss him as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders. James wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him, and teased her lips with his tongue. She thrust against him easily, and they both moaned. His cock was hard, very hard, and she was very, very hot. He pulled away from her lips only long enough to pull her shirt over her head, exposing her skin to him for the first time. His hands trailed over her back, her smooth skin driving him crazy already. Skin, he decided, should not be that soft. It was too ... too much of a temptation, and he knew he would never be able to look at her again without remembering the way it felt under his hands.

"James," she said, breathless. "Touch me, please. Touch me."

Her request spurred him on, and he lay her back on the couch, moving above her to trail kisses down her flat stomach. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, and she arched into the touch. His thumb teased her nipple through the material of her bra, and she moaned loudly as he leaned down to take the other one into his mouth. Her bra was thin, not silk, but something similar. The material molded itself to her skin as his tongue trailed around the outline of her nipple, and her lips parted, a pleasurable sigh escaping her. Pushing the strap down her shoulder, he moved the material slowly out of the way and groaned as he tasted her skin, as he sucked her breast into his mouth. She whispered his name, and he began to move his hands down her sides, to the waistband of her pants. He found the zipper at her hip and worked it down, slipping his hand inside. She was wearing a scrap of lace that should not have been allowed to be called panties, and he groaned loudly as his lips found hers once more.

Kissing her passionately, James slipped her pants down over her hips and cupped her through that little bit of lace. She was soaked. He tore his mouth away and stared at her wide-eyed. "Holy fuck, you're wet."

She smiled then, and bucked ever so slightly against his hand. "You turn me on, too."

He grinned as he slipped a finger past the lace and trailed it across her wet slit. Her eyes widened, and she moaned his name as he slipped the digit inside her. She was tight. Hot and tight. "Have to taste you," he said as he began kissing his way down her body.

He pulled her pants off, her panties following quickly behind, and deposited them on the floor as he settled between her legs. She gazed down at him with lust shining in her eyes, and he did not look away as he lowered his lips to her pussy. His tongue darted out, swirling around her clit, and she cried out as he began to feast on her. She tasted fantastic, like clove honey, he decided. He slipped a finger inside of her, then two, stretching her slightly as he worked her closer to orgasm. Michelle bucked up against his mouth and he held her still with one arm, her cries of pleasure turning him on even more. He felt her walls beginning to flutter around his finger and increased the speed and pressure of his tongue. Flicking her clit back and forth, he curved his fingers inside of her, and she screamed his name as she came.

He continued to lap at her as she came down from her high, and he didn't stop until she was tugging at him, trying to pull him back up to her. He groaned into her mouth when she didn't hesitate even for a second before kissing him hard, sweeping her tongue into his mouth. Her hands were on his hips, moving along the waistband of his jeans, and she tugged at them. "Off," she murmured against his lips, and he could not have agreed more.

There was just one thing wrong and he was, as he stood up and gathered her in his arms, determined to fix it. "James?" she questioned.

He kissed her again as he carried her through the condo, and into his bedroom. "Want you here, on the bed."

She smiled as he sat her down on the bed, and pulled him closer to stand in front of her. She unfastened his jeans quickly, and pushed them past his hips. She grinned up at him when his cock sprang free; he was not wearing underwear. His jeans pooled at his ankles and she took him into her mouth, sucking gently. "Fuck, Michelle," he cried as her tongue swirled around his tip, lapping at the precome that had accumulated there. "Fuck yes."

Wrapping her hand around his cock, she stroked him up and down as she sucked on the tip. James' eyes drifted closed and he had to force himself not to thrust into her mouth. It felt so good, so very good. But he wanted to be inside of her. Pulling her off of him, he dragged her up to him, catching her bottom lip between his teeth gently. "What do you want?" he asked after a moment.

"Condom?" she asked, clearly hoping he had one.

"Of course," he said.

"Then I want you to fuck me."

His eyes widened at her very direct answer, and he kissed her again as he reached out for the bedside table, easily pulling the protection from the drawer. He slipped his other hand between them, between her legs, testing her readiness. She was still practically dripping, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing her back on the bed and pounding into her right then. He opened the condom and she helped him, much to his pleasure, roll it onto his cock. Tugging at his waist, she pulled him onto the bed with her, kissing him again as they moved to lay next to each other.

"You're sure?" he felt obligated to ask.

She reached out, grabbing his dick and stroking hard. "I'm sure."

Moving above her, James kissed her softly as he lined himself up with her entrance. She spread her legs wider, and he pushed forward, slipping the head of his cock inside of her tight pussy. "Shit, you are so tight," he murmured, and she thrust her hips, taking his entire length into her.

They both cried out, pleasure filling them, and he was lost to the feeling of her around him. He began to thrust, pulling out and back in slowly, and she wrapped her legs around him, and met each thrust with her own. "James!" she cried out. "Oh, God, yes, James!"

"So good," he told her. "You feel so good."

"Harder," she pleaded. "Fuck me. Fuck me harder."

He pounded into her, hard and fast. "Like that?" he asked. "You want me to fuck you like that?"

"Yes, Jim, yes. Take me."

He let go then, and did as she asked. Her cries of pleasure mixed with his own, the sound of skin upon skin filling the room. He slipped his hand between them when he felt his orgasm building, and began to flick her clit from side to side. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as he continued to fuck her, to pound into her relentlessly. "Gonna cum, baby," he said, "Gonna cum for you."

She held his eyes, and thrust against him. He increased the pressure on her clit and she cried out in pleasure. "James, yes, fuck yes!"

Michelle came hard, his name falling so easily, so naturally, from her lips, and James thrust into her twice more before pleasure overtook him. "Michelle," he breathed as he collapsed against her. "Michelle."

Her arms tightened around him, and he pulled out of her as he rolled them over. "Did I hurt you?" he asked softly, knowing that he had not held back at all.

She shook her head, and kissed him before resting her head on his chest. "Not at all. That was . . . that was fantastic."

"Yeah," he murmured into her hair. "Yeah, it was."

Neither one of them thought about having to return to their normal lives, or how things would have to change (they would just have to) between them. They simply held on to each other and slept, letting the night slip away from them. They'd deal with everything else by the light of day.

the end