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alixtiiTitle: Summer Loving (1/?)
Fandom: Jossverse RPF
Pairing: Summer Glau/Michelle Trachtenberg
Rating: NWS
Summary: Summer's desperate and Michelle's in control--and they both like it that way.
A/N: This chapter is the first (well, second, if you count Bullshit) in a series of mostly-PWPs with an overarching plot arc.
Summer Loving
Summer's got the number from Jewel. It wasn't easy, but enough pestering and Jewel finally gave in, and Summer Glau now possesses Michelle Trachtenberg's cell phone number. It's punched into Summer's phone right now, just waiting for her to hit SEND, and Summer's staring at it helplessly.
It's been two months since WhedonCon, and Summer's been unable to get Michelle out of her mind. She keeps on going back to that night in Jewel's hotel room, reliving the moment of her naked and on her knees before Michelle.
She hits SEND, and the phone goes straight to voicemail. "You have reached 310-555-7653," a recorded voice answers. "Please leave a message after the tone."
"Hey, Michelle," Summer says into the silence, finding herself suddenly at a loss as to what to say. It's, um, Summer. Summer Glau. I was just, um, wondering how you were doing, and, um, maybe we can get together some time?"
She hangs up feeling incredibly stupid.
. . .
Michelle gets a call from Jewel the next day. "Did Summer call you?" she asks.
Michelle smiles, leans back in her chair. "Yep," she says. "That girl wants me bad. Damn, I'm good."
Jewel sighs. "Just be easy on her, Mich. Let her down easy."
There's silence before Michelle answers. "What makes you think I'm going to turn her down?"
"Michelle," Jewel's voice is cautionary, warning, but there's an edge there.
"I mean, you saw her give head," Michelle points out. "Her technique could use some work, but there's passion there. I like passion."
"We're fond of Summer," Jewel continues. "I don't want to see you break her."
"I'm fond of Summer," Michelle insists. "What makes you think I would want to hurt her? Other than physically, of course." She lets just a drip of sultriness slip into her voice.
Jewel's voice is pleasing when she says, "You had your fun with Summer; I even helped you. Now I'm asking you to let it end there. We don't need another Haley."
Michelle groans. "Why does everyone bring up Haley like what happened was somehow my fault?"
"I'm just warning you," Jewel says, and now her voice is steel. "If you hurt Summer, you'll going to find yourself with a lot of enemies."
Don't worry," says Michelle. "I'll take care of her." She turns off the phone, and a slow grin grows across her face.
Oh, yeah. This is going to be fun.
. . .
It's been two days since Summer's called Michelle's cell phone, and she's dying to try again, only she's sure that she'll end up sounding even more pathetic than she did the first time. But she's desperate to have some response from he other woman, some contact of any kind, to hear Michelle's voice again.
Frustrated, she puts Ice Princess into the DVD player, takes off her clothes, and lies down naked on her bed, her fingers working inside herself as she watches Michelle and Hayden exchange barbs on the screen. She wonders if the two of them fucked while they made the movie. Probably.
Her hand's deep inside herself, moving quickly, when the phone goes off. She quickly goes for it, fumbling, as she sees it display "MICHELLE T" on the screen.
"Hello," she says, trying her best to sound composed and not like she's just been vigorously finger-fucking herself.
"It's Michelle," Michelle says, and then, "Is that Ice Princess?"
Frantically, Summer races to hit pause on the DVD player. Luckily, Michelle doesn't wait for an answer, but instead spouts off an address in the suburbs. Summer grabs a pen and, unwilling to take the time to find some paper, writes it down on her bare chest.
"Can you be there at 2 o'clock tomorrow?" Michelle asks.
"Yeah, sure," Summer says eagerly, but Michelle cuts her off with a curt "Good" before she can say anything else.
"2 o'clock sharp," Michelle continues. "And wear a skirt."
. . .
Summer's at the address Michelle gave her at 1:55 p.m. There's a house there, she doesn't know what it is, exactly; she's pretty sure Michelle lives in an apartment in the city. She's about to knock when her cell phone rings. It's Michelle.
"You're early," Michelle says brusquely. "Open the door and come inside."
Summer tries the door and, indeed, it's unlocked. She steps into the house, closing the door behind her with her left hand while she holds the cell phone to her ear with her right. She standing in some sort of parlor or sunporch.
"Take off your shoes and leave them at the door," Michelle instructs over the phone, and Summer complies by taking off her heels and setting them down next to the door.
"Go into the living room," Michelle continues, and Summer crosses the porch and opens a door leading into a living room. There's couches and a coffee table and a television in the corner. Open doorways lead into other rooms, what seems like a kitchen and a dining room. There's a staircase on the other side of the room, leading up to a second floor.
"Take your shirt off," Michelle's voice whispers in her ear, and Summer looks around for any sign that there's any one other than herself in the house. But she does what Michelle tells her--to walk away at this point is unthinkable--and pulls the shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor.
"Go to the staircase," Michelle commands. "Take off your bra and leave it at the bottom of the steps." Summer does what Michelle says and now she's topless, naked and exposed from the waist up.
"Go up the steps," Michelle says. "Leave your skirt at the top of the steps." Now Summer's naked except for a simple thong, and she walks down the hallway at the top of the stairs tentatively, uncertain what is going to happen next. "Third room on the left," Michelle tells her. "Leave your underwear outside the door before you come in."
Summer enters the room naked. It's a bedroom, with a four-poster bed in the center of the room, and dresses and bureaus lining the walls. "Lie down on the bed, spread your legs, and close your eyes." Michelle hangs up.
Summer complies, getting on the bed and lying back. She closes her eyes and spreads her legs, just like Michelle said, and waits.
There are a couple of times when she thinks she hears something, possibly someone entering the room, but she can't be sure. There's no way to keep track of time on her back with her eyes closed, but it feels like five, ten minutes have had to have passed and so far nothing. Still she waits, her exposed sex wet and aching.
Then, without any warning, she feels something cold against her vulva and gasps. It's hard and smooth, possibly plastic..Summer resists the urge to open her eyes ad look up at Michelle, even as it occurs to her that she can't even be sure that it is Michelle who's fucking her. For all she knows, it's some 220-pound, pimply-faced fourteen-year-old boy who's working the plastic between her legs. There could be a dozen people in the room, or a camcorder recording everything which happens as Summer lies naked on her back.
She doesn't open her eyes; she knows without needing to be told that if she disobeys Michelle then this will stop, that Summer will be sent home and will never have the chance again. So instead, she squeezes her eyelids tighter together.
Michelle--or whoever--definitely knows what she is doing, seriously discrediting the fourteen-year-old boy hypothesis. The dildo or whatever it is Michelle's fucking her with moves slowly but deliberately, building Summer's need, drawing it out of her, until she balances on the edge of climax. Michelle manages to hold her there for several moments until finally, gently, pushing her over.
The dildo is removed and nothing happens for several moments, but Summer just lies there, motionless, her eyes still closed. Four or five minutes pass before her cell rings, and Summer searches for it, groping blindly until she finds it. She opens it and answers it. "Hello?"
"You can open your eyes now," Michelle tells her. Summer does so, to a room as empty as when she closed them. Any evidence that anyone else was ever there is now gone. You can go home now," Michelle's voice continues. "I'll call you when it's time for the next time."
Michelle hangs up before Summer can say a word, but that's okay. She's already feeling jubilant just at hearing Michelle say the words next time.
Summer goes to gather her clothing, but when she does so the heels, thong, and shirt are all missing. She puts on her bra and skirt calls the cab anyway; it's not like she has very much choice.
The cab driver's eyes widen when sees her in her lacy red bra, but mercifully he doesn't say anything. She shrinks into the backseat, trying to stay out of the line of sight through the windows. She tips the cabbie extra when he drops her off at her building, and she quickly races through the building to her apartment as quickly as she can, not stopping for breath until she's safe behind the locked door of her apartment.
TBC. . . .
Fandom: Jossverse RPF
Pairing: Summer Glau/Michelle Trachtenberg
Rating: NWS
Summary: Summer's desperate and Michelle's in control--and they both like it that way.
A/N: This chapter is the first (well, second, if you count Bullshit) in a series of mostly-PWPs with an overarching plot arc.
Summer Loving
Summer's got the number from Jewel. It wasn't easy, but enough pestering and Jewel finally gave in, and Summer Glau now possesses Michelle Trachtenberg's cell phone number. It's punched into Summer's phone right now, just waiting for her to hit SEND, and Summer's staring at it helplessly.
It's been two months since WhedonCon, and Summer's been unable to get Michelle out of her mind. She keeps on going back to that night in Jewel's hotel room, reliving the moment of her naked and on her knees before Michelle.
She hits SEND, and the phone goes straight to voicemail. "You have reached 310-555-7653," a recorded voice answers. "Please leave a message after the tone."
"Hey, Michelle," Summer says into the silence, finding herself suddenly at a loss as to what to say. It's, um, Summer. Summer Glau. I was just, um, wondering how you were doing, and, um, maybe we can get together some time?"
She hangs up feeling incredibly stupid.
. . .
Michelle gets a call from Jewel the next day. "Did Summer call you?" she asks.
Michelle smiles, leans back in her chair. "Yep," she says. "That girl wants me bad. Damn, I'm good."
Jewel sighs. "Just be easy on her, Mich. Let her down easy."
There's silence before Michelle answers. "What makes you think I'm going to turn her down?"
"Michelle," Jewel's voice is cautionary, warning, but there's an edge there.
"I mean, you saw her give head," Michelle points out. "Her technique could use some work, but there's passion there. I like passion."
"We're fond of Summer," Jewel continues. "I don't want to see you break her."
"I'm fond of Summer," Michelle insists. "What makes you think I would want to hurt her? Other than physically, of course." She lets just a drip of sultriness slip into her voice.
Jewel's voice is pleasing when she says, "You had your fun with Summer; I even helped you. Now I'm asking you to let it end there. We don't need another Haley."
Michelle groans. "Why does everyone bring up Haley like what happened was somehow my fault?"
"I'm just warning you," Jewel says, and now her voice is steel. "If you hurt Summer, you'll going to find yourself with a lot of enemies."
Don't worry," says Michelle. "I'll take care of her." She turns off the phone, and a slow grin grows across her face.
Oh, yeah. This is going to be fun.
. . .
It's been two days since Summer's called Michelle's cell phone, and she's dying to try again, only she's sure that she'll end up sounding even more pathetic than she did the first time. But she's desperate to have some response from he other woman, some contact of any kind, to hear Michelle's voice again.
Frustrated, she puts Ice Princess into the DVD player, takes off her clothes, and lies down naked on her bed, her fingers working inside herself as she watches Michelle and Hayden exchange barbs on the screen. She wonders if the two of them fucked while they made the movie. Probably.
Her hand's deep inside herself, moving quickly, when the phone goes off. She quickly goes for it, fumbling, as she sees it display "MICHELLE T" on the screen.
"Hello," she says, trying her best to sound composed and not like she's just been vigorously finger-fucking herself.
"It's Michelle," Michelle says, and then, "Is that Ice Princess?"
Frantically, Summer races to hit pause on the DVD player. Luckily, Michelle doesn't wait for an answer, but instead spouts off an address in the suburbs. Summer grabs a pen and, unwilling to take the time to find some paper, writes it down on her bare chest.
"Can you be there at 2 o'clock tomorrow?" Michelle asks.
"Yeah, sure," Summer says eagerly, but Michelle cuts her off with a curt "Good" before she can say anything else.
"2 o'clock sharp," Michelle continues. "And wear a skirt."
. . .
Summer's at the address Michelle gave her at 1:55 p.m. There's a house there, she doesn't know what it is, exactly; she's pretty sure Michelle lives in an apartment in the city. She's about to knock when her cell phone rings. It's Michelle.
"You're early," Michelle says brusquely. "Open the door and come inside."
Summer tries the door and, indeed, it's unlocked. She steps into the house, closing the door behind her with her left hand while she holds the cell phone to her ear with her right. She standing in some sort of parlor or sunporch.
"Take off your shoes and leave them at the door," Michelle instructs over the phone, and Summer complies by taking off her heels and setting them down next to the door.
"Go into the living room," Michelle continues, and Summer crosses the porch and opens a door leading into a living room. There's couches and a coffee table and a television in the corner. Open doorways lead into other rooms, what seems like a kitchen and a dining room. There's a staircase on the other side of the room, leading up to a second floor.
"Take your shirt off," Michelle's voice whispers in her ear, and Summer looks around for any sign that there's any one other than herself in the house. But she does what Michelle tells her--to walk away at this point is unthinkable--and pulls the shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor.
"Go to the staircase," Michelle commands. "Take off your bra and leave it at the bottom of the steps." Summer does what Michelle says and now she's topless, naked and exposed from the waist up.
"Go up the steps," Michelle says. "Leave your skirt at the top of the steps." Now Summer's naked except for a simple thong, and she walks down the hallway at the top of the stairs tentatively, uncertain what is going to happen next. "Third room on the left," Michelle tells her. "Leave your underwear outside the door before you come in."
Summer enters the room naked. It's a bedroom, with a four-poster bed in the center of the room, and dresses and bureaus lining the walls. "Lie down on the bed, spread your legs, and close your eyes." Michelle hangs up.
Summer complies, getting on the bed and lying back. She closes her eyes and spreads her legs, just like Michelle said, and waits.
There are a couple of times when she thinks she hears something, possibly someone entering the room, but she can't be sure. There's no way to keep track of time on her back with her eyes closed, but it feels like five, ten minutes have had to have passed and so far nothing. Still she waits, her exposed sex wet and aching.
Then, without any warning, she feels something cold against her vulva and gasps. It's hard and smooth, possibly plastic..Summer resists the urge to open her eyes ad look up at Michelle, even as it occurs to her that she can't even be sure that it is Michelle who's fucking her. For all she knows, it's some 220-pound, pimply-faced fourteen-year-old boy who's working the plastic between her legs. There could be a dozen people in the room, or a camcorder recording everything which happens as Summer lies naked on her back.
She doesn't open her eyes; she knows without needing to be told that if she disobeys Michelle then this will stop, that Summer will be sent home and will never have the chance again. So instead, she squeezes her eyelids tighter together.
Michelle--or whoever--definitely knows what she is doing, seriously discrediting the fourteen-year-old boy hypothesis. The dildo or whatever it is Michelle's fucking her with moves slowly but deliberately, building Summer's need, drawing it out of her, until she balances on the edge of climax. Michelle manages to hold her there for several moments until finally, gently, pushing her over.
The dildo is removed and nothing happens for several moments, but Summer just lies there, motionless, her eyes still closed. Four or five minutes pass before her cell rings, and Summer searches for it, groping blindly until she finds it. She opens it and answers it. "Hello?"
"You can open your eyes now," Michelle tells her. Summer does so, to a room as empty as when she closed them. Any evidence that anyone else was ever there is now gone. You can go home now," Michelle's voice continues. "I'll call you when it's time for the next time."
Michelle hangs up before Summer can say a word, but that's okay. She's already feeling jubilant just at hearing Michelle say the words next time.
Summer goes to gather her clothing, but when she does so the heels, thong, and shirt are all missing. She puts on her bra and skirt calls the cab anyway; it's not like she has very much choice.
The cab driver's eyes widen when sees her in her lacy red bra, but mercifully he doesn't say anything. She shrinks into the backseat, trying to stay out of the line of sight through the windows. She tips the cabbie extra when he drops her off at her building, and she quickly races through the building to her apartment as quickly as she can, not stopping for breath until she's safe behind the locked door of her apartment.
TBC. . . .